


Overstepping

by Masked_Mayhem



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Agravaine is an ass, Blood and Violence, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Lamia (mentioned) - Freeform, M/M, Oblivious Arthur, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), gwaine is a good bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-02-15 23:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masked_Mayhem/pseuds/Masked_Mayhem
Summary: Merlin knew he was pushing his limits, that he was millimeters away from overstepping the invisible line that Arthur had wordlessly set and the warlock had been careful not to cross, but he was never one to listen to the rules that were set for him. Especially not when he was afraid.Agravaine had managed to weasel his way into his king’s mind and ingrain doubts in the people he loved, the people that loved him...doubts that only took place and bloomed as the traitor lied and deceived and planted things against them. He had gotten rid of Gwen easily enough, and had almost gotten rid of Gaius. Merlin was afraid. Were a few words and items all it would take for Arthur to turn against him too?





	1. Chapter 1

“Arthur, please, _please_ listen to me. He is not on your side! He is helping Morgana!”

 

Merlin knew he was pushing his limits, that he was millimeters away from overstepping the invisible line that Arthur had wordlessly set and the warlock had been careful not to cross, but he was never one to listen to the rules that were set for him. Especially not when he was afraid.

 

“Have I ever been wrong before? Every person I suspected, every person I announced innocent when condemned, every person I warned you about even when you refused to heed my words-- _have I ever been wrong?!_ Arthur, he is _playing you_!”

 

Arthur had become so dependent on Agravaine’s word that he had become blind to the gaps in the man’s excuses, the absurdity of his explanations. He was so reliant on the man that would not even bat an eyelash as Camelot went up in flames.

 

“Gaius has been nothing but loyal to you from the beginning. He bandaged you up, soothed your pains, quieted your tantrums, he’s been more of a father to you than your own was! You have never doubted him once before this, but then _he_ comes along and manages to dissuade that trust! Do you see _nothing_ wrong with this?!”

 

Merlin had always been aware of Arthur’s limits, despite what everyone else thought. He always knew when to stop pushing and fall silent. When to fight back and argue and (metaphorically) beat some sense into his king. He knew Arthur’s limits better than the king knew them himself, which was why he knew he was overstepping them as he shot insult after insult at both Arthur and at his _beloved_ uncle, each one laced with spite.

 

“Why won’t you understand?! You are _blind_ , Arthur. You’re so caught up in protecting him that you won’t realize that he is doing _everything_ in his power to hurt you, to kill you!”

 

He knew he was overstepping, but he was afraid. Afraid for himself and for his friends and for his king. Agravaine had already come after Gaius, kind Gaius, and had tortured him, hurt him. He had already come after Gwen--of this he had no proof, but what else could turn Gwen against Arthur, against the man she loved with all her heart? He had already come after Arthur himself, had already attempted to bring down his image behind his back by whispering terrible advice and twisting and turning Arthur’s kind heart with his cunning tongue. Agravaine had managed to weasel his way into his king’s mind and ingrain doubts in the people he loved, the people that loved him...doubts that only took place and bloomed as the traitor lied and deceived and planted things against them. He had gotten rid of Gwen easily enough, and had almost gotten rid of Gaius. _Merlin was afraid._ Were a few words and items all it would take for Arthur to turn against him too?

 

“He is turning you against everyone you love! He is using you as a vessel! He knows he doesn’t have the power to push away those that would give their lives for you himself, so he is using you to push them away. _He knows you, Arthur_ ! He _knows_ how much you valued Gwen’s word, how you always listened to Gaius, how you trust _me_ ! He is getting rid of everyone that could possibly help you! He is leaving you _vulnerable_!”

 

Merlin had done everything in his power to keep Arthur safe, to keep him alive, to keep him _happy_. Would Agravaine manage to turn Arthur against him?

 

“He is going to overthrow you! He wants Morgana on the throne, _not you_!”

 

Arthur’s trust meant the world to Merlin. He cherished the fact that Arthur listened to him more than anyone else. How had Agravaine managed to change that?

 

“Arthur, _listen to me_ , he does not care for you. He does not _love_ you. He is _using_ you as a means to an end! He is wreaking as much destruction on the kingdom as he can with you on the throne!”

 

Merlin was afraid. _He was so, so afraid._

 

_“He is going to kill you!! He is going to destroy everything you care about!! He would watch you burn and he wouldn’t even care!!”_

 

“ENOUGH!!” the loud shout rattled him, and he finally focused back on Arthur. The king’s face was red and his eyes were flaming with rage. His hands were clenched into tight fists and his sword was clutched in his right. For a fleeting second, Merlin wondered if he had gone far enough for Arthur to hurt him, but he chased the thought away, not because he knew it wouldn’t happen, but because he didn’t want to know if it was true.

He finally realized that, as much as Agravaine had broken Arthur’s trust in Merlin, he had also managed to waver Merlin’s trust in Arthur.

“ _How dare you,_ ” Arthur’s voice was barely louder than whisper, and for some reason Merlin found that that was worse that a shout could have ever been.

“Agravaine has been nothing but loyal to me, which is more than I can say for you at the moment.”

There it was.

“He offered me counsel that would benefit the whole kingdom whereas you offered me counsel that would benefit no one but yourself,” Arthur’s voice was filled with quiet accusation, and Merlin’s own fists clenched with hurt, and he opened his mouth to defend himself.

“ _NO_ , you don’t get to talk! Not after the treason you have spoken! You have spoken against your king and his supporters, and you will face the punishment!”

Merlin’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t know why he was surprised. He had overstepped.

“You have repeatedly disobeyed orders. I told you to stay put, I told you to trust my judgement, but even after saying so, you ran after Gaius.”

“For good reason! He almost died! And he was innocent!” Merlin defended harshly.

“Agravaine had already gone in because he felt that something wasn’t right. Or are you forgetting that he helped Sir Gwaine carry him back and announced his innocence himself?!”

“The only reason he was there was because he was helping Morgana get him there in the first place!” Merlin cried, arms gesturing wildly, eyes pleading with Arthur to understand, to believe him.

He had clearly made a mistake, as Arthur suddenly stalked forward and grabbed his wrist harshly, pulling him close by his bruising grip on it so that they were so close that their breaths were mingling. Merlin cried out in pain at the brutal grip, but Arthur didn’t release or loosen his hold.

“He saved Gaius’ _life_ ! No thanks to you! He made sure Gaius got back safely while you ran and hid, _as usual_.”

_If only he knew_.

The whole time Arthur had been speaking he had been tightening his already painful grip on Merlin’s wrist. He had tightened it so much that Merlin could feel bruises already forming underneath. He tried to pull his abused wrist out of the iron grip, but Arthur held fast and didn’t let go.

“He was a hero whereas you cowered and hid like the coward you are! How _dare_ you doubt him! He’s a noble! He’s my uncle! _You’re nothing but a servant!_ ”

And that hurt more than the grip on his wrist did, because it was exactly what Merlin had been afraid of for this long. It was exactly what he had spent sleepless nights thinking about and what he had shoved to the back of his mind every morning. It was exactly what the knights had said to him during the whole Lamia incident, and it was exactly what all the visiting nobles and princesses, princes, kings, and queens sneered at him when Arthur sought out his counsel.

With that, Arthur threw him to the ground with the grip on his wrist, and Merlin went down and stayed down even after Arthur let go. He hung his head, too ashamed of the unshed tears in his eyes to look up at his king.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he knew that the guards had come in.

“Throw him in the dungeons. Maybe that will teach him to hold his tongue,” Arthur’s voice was calm, but Merlin knew that if he looked up, rage and hatred would be the only things he would be able to see on the blonde’s face.

He felt the guards grab his shoulders, and pull him up by his grip on them. He didn’t fight their grip as he usually would have, suddenly feeling too drained and exhausted to do anything.

“Arthur,” his voice was soft this time, and he knew it was pointless to try and get Arthur to see sense, especially since _Merlin_ was the one telling him, but he had to try.

He knew Arthur was listening because he told the guards to wait. Merlin’s back was to him, but he could still feel his blue gaze burning into the back of his head.

“ _It’s only a matter of time_ ,” Merlin whispered, but the words carried throughout the room. He heard Arthur snarl angrily and direct the guards to take him away once more, and he hung his head knowing that Arthur had stopped trusting him, too.

The guards dragged him out of the room and away from Arthur, pulling him through the castle, and Merlin could hear the surprised whispers of every person he passed, and feel their burning gazes on him, but he kept his head down, not wanting them to see the tears flowing down his cheeks.

He stayed down after the guards not-so-gently threw him into a cell and locked the door behind him, walking away after they had done so. He knew he could easily blow them open with his magic as he had done so many times before, but those times had been different, because no matter how many people had turned against him, he had Arthur backing him up, helping him. This time it was Arthur himself who had thrown him into the prison.

He had never been able to disobey an order from his king.

…

Arthur was seeing red. After his manservant had been escorted from his chambers and the door had been shut quietly behind the guards dragging him out, Arthur had completely lost it. He threw things across the room, goblets, plates, furniture, anything he could get his hands on and hurl into the wall.

_Merlin_ , _of all people_ …

Merlin who never really lost his temper, who rarely got upset, who always trusted the king in his judgements and decisions even when the blonde himself was unsure of them. Merlin who was unwaveringly loyal to him, who risked his life for him, who helped him, who was a friend to him. Merlin who he trusted with everything, who he could tell anything, from whom he hid nothing.

“ _Not anymore apparently,”_ Arthur thought bitterly, hurling a goblet at the wall with renewed rage. Everyone around him had betrayed him, he was a fool to think that Merlin would be any different. Arthur loved Agravaine. He was the one person that Arthur could see as a parental figure. He could _trust_ Agravaine. Agravaine offered him judgement and pointed him in the right direction, gave him friendly pats on the shoulder, constantly looked out for him when Arthur was stressed--how could Merlin doubt one of the only parental figures that he ever had?

When Agravaine had come to him after rescuing Gaius, saying that he had miscalculated and that it was not Gaius who was the traitor, but rather his ward, Arthur had been doubtful, and had instantly shot down Agravaine with a stern look and a warning.

As the days passed however, the seed Agravaine had planted grew and festered until Arthur was looking at every single one of Merlin’s actions with suspicion, unconsciously making a mental note of every time one of his actions and his excuses didn’t quite match up. Arthur had begun to lose faith in his manservant, and he was ashamed to begin to see the person he loved more than anything as an enemy.

At least, until now. Merlin had proven himself to not care for his king, and so the king would do the same for him.

_“Let him_ rot _in that cell, see if I care!”_ Arthur thought savagely, finally calming down.

It was his idiot manservant’s own fault for doubting those above him. He would serve his punishment.

…

Agravaine was more than pleased when he saw the insolent manservant being dragged to the dungeons. The words he had planted in the king’s mind had finally grown into distrust for his closest friend, and he had tossed away the one person that had been defending him all along.

Everything was going according to plan. Morgana had the siege tunnel plans, and her army was already marching out, the castle wasn’t ready for an attack, the king was wallowing in his sorrow, and the protector of the king was finally out of the way.

He supposed he had some time to kill before his queen arrived at the castle, and his lips twitched up in a cruel smirk as he decided that he should pay a visit down to the servant in the dungeons.

…

Merlin was leaning up against the cold stone wall of the cell he was in. His head was in his hands, and even from a distance one could see that his posture was defeated. Shudders racked through his body, brought on by the drafts of chilly winds that flew through the barred windows in the cells. His thin brown jacket, blue shirt, and red neckerchief did little to block out the cold, but even if he could register it, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care.

He could feel nothing but guilt and hurt. Guilt for attacking Arthur about the last family that he had that he believed was still on his side. Guilt for screaming insults at him that he knew would cut him to the core. Guilt for blaming him for matters that he didn’t have control over.

But the pain of the hurt overtook the guilt. Hurt for Arthur not believing in him, not trusting him even though he knew that Merlin would give his own life to save his. Hurt for being filled with promises of friendship, equality, and bravery when he was nothing more than a servant. Hurt for being so foolish as to believe that Arthur actually _needed_ him, _wanted_ him.

What good was he to the king? He was simply a servant, and a terrible one at that. He gave Arthur advice that always failed, gave him promises that were broken, and fed him lies in order to hide the truth. How could he possibly believe that Arthur would choose him over his own uncle, no matter how treacherous he might be?

He was an idiot. A fool.

Merlin gripped his hair tightly in his hands and gave it a firm yank, finding comfort in the pain that the action produced. Better the physical pain that the inner turmoil that was tearing him apart from the inside-out.

The cell door squeaking open made Merlin tense. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up in discomfort, and he lifted his head already knowing whose eyes he would meet when he looked up.

Agravaine smiled cruelly at him, eyeing the dark bruise on the manservant’s wrist appraisingly. Merlin pulled his wrist back, ashamed of the evidence that showed that Agravaine had managed to prevail over him and capture Arthur’s mind by feeding on the man’s paranoia. He narrowed his eyes at the king’s uncle and pushed himself to his feet, standing straight and tall with a strength he knew he didn’t actually possess.

Agravaine stepped further into the cell, allowing the cell door to fall shut with a clang. It was times like these that Merlin wondered why the guards of Camelot were held in such high standing when they clearly couldn’t even do their job.

Merlin stayed standing against the wall, and he stayed silent, waiting for the other man to say the first mocking words. Sure enough, he didn’t have to wait long.

“He’s finally seen you for what you are.” the man with the snake’s tongue sneered.

Merlin stayed silent, keeping his face clear of any emotion, and his eyes empty of the wave of _hurt_ that came with the statement and the truth within it.

“Nothing more than a bastard servant who doesn’t know how to keep his filthy mouth shut. Nothing more than someone who can be easily replaced and forgotten -- the common fool."

Still, Merlin remained stoic. Agravaine’s lips twisted into a snarl.

“Arthur is a complete fool. He throws aside the people that truly want the best for him in order to pull those that want him dead closer. He tosses you aside time after time, yet you still go back to him like a mutt to its master.”

Merlin’s finger twitched. Agravaine smirked, and began pulling on the thread that he had come upon.

“Arthur doesn’t possess the strength to rule Camelot. Even Uther was a better king than he, and that old man was hated by the majority of the kingdom. It’s truly a pity that Camelot has been forced to suffer under incompetent rulers for so long.”

Merlin’s long fingers curled into fists. Agravaine eyed them with delight.

“When the Lady Morgana takes the throne, the people of Camelot will finally prosper as they should have been doing for all this time. She will be the best queen Camelot has ever seen, seeing as she’s the only one fit to sit on the throne.”

“You’re wrong,” Merlin’s voice was quiet, but it carried. Agravaine paused in his monologue.

“Oh?”

Merlin’s sinfully pink lips suddenly twisted into a smirk that made his whole face change into something darker, something more powerful. He stepped closer to Agravaine, standing a mere foot’s length away from the man, meeting him head on.

“Arthur is the only one truly fit to rule Camelot. He will unite the realms and bring peace and magic back to the lands. You and your precious _Queen_ won’t be able to get in his way. It is his destiny to succeed, as it is yours to fail.”

Agravaine snarled once more. He discreetly reached around himself to the dagger tucked in belt and pulled it out. He had cleaned and polished this blade for _months_ in the hope that he could bury it in the insolent servant’s gut one day. It seemed that that day had finally arrived.

“Morgana will fall to Emrys. He is her destiny and her doom. She cannot avoid him. She will die afraid and alone, as will you,” Merlin continued.

The manservant hadn’t taken notice of the wandering hands, and he remained oblivious as Agravaine tightened his grip around the hilt of the dagger, eagerly anticipating the pain that it would bring Merlin.

“Morgana will _never_ win against Arthur, for he is the only one worthy enough to rule Camelot, and there is _nothing_ you can do to change that.”

Agravaine snarled with anger once more as he thrust the dagger forward, straight into Merlin’s abdomen.

Merlin’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide as he glanced down to see the dagger buried to the hilt in his flesh. He fell forward into Agravaine, gripping the other man’s shoulders with shaky fingers in an attempt to keep his balance.

He let out a shattered gasp as the traitor yanked the dagger out of him only to bury it in him once more. Merlin’s fingers clenched on Agravaine’s shoulders, and his wide eyes latched onto the other man’s.

A choked whimper escaped his mouth as Agravaine twisted the blade sharply once before letting go of it altogether. Merlin’s suddenly weak legs gave out underneath him and he fell to his knees, then crumpled onto his side.

Agravaine watched on with sick satisfaction as the wounded manservant curled in on himself,  shaky hands coming to hover over the dagger still buried in his stomach, wanting to alleviate the pain but unable to do so.

The blue shirt the servant wore was already soaked through with blood on both the back and front, and Agravaine watched with eager eyes as a dark red stain began to spread underneath the manservant whose eyes were beginning to flutter.

The traitor watched with a grin that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud as Merlin’s eyes slipped shut, and his tense body went lax. The pale hands hands fell limply from the wound to the ground, signifying that the servant had fallen unconscious.

Good timing, as well.

The sounds of screams and shouts and swords clashing together began to echo down the long hallways, and Agravaine knew that his Lady Morgana had arrived.

He knelt down, uncaring of the blood that stained his trousers, and reached for the dagger in the manservant’s flesh. He paused with his fingers mere breaths away from the hilt of it, taking in the satisfaction that his finest blade being buried in his worst enemy gave him. He changed his mind and retracted his hand, wanting to sear the image into his memory by leaving it undisturbed. He rose once more, leaving the dagger where it was in Merlin’s abdomen and turned on his heel.

Pausing once more at the cell door, he looked back once at the pale angel sprawled on the dirty dungeon floor with his dagger embedded in his abdomen, slowly and painfully draining him of his life.

Agravaine smirked, then turned and walked away, slamming the cell door shut behind him.

…

If Arthur was furious before, he was absolutely livid now. The soldiers and sorcerers storming the castle had taken both him and all of his knights by surprise. The soldiers had made sure that they were cut off from the weaponry, meaning that they were practically defenseless against the knives and swords that were pointed at them. Arthur usually always kept his sword in its scabbard on his belt, but he’d _conveniently_ chosen that day to leave both the scabbard and the sword in his chambers, which were also inaccessible because of the soldiers.

Even without his sword, though, the mercenaries were finding it difficult to take him down. He had been dining with his other knights when the screams had begun echoing down the hallways, and he was now grabbing anything he could -- goblets, plates, platters -- and chucking them as hard as he could in the direction of the enemy.

It was actually working remarkably well. Gwaine was standing to his right, and doing the same thing as he. Leon was at his left, and he held a chair in his hand, holding it with the legs out so as to ward the enemies away. It was quite an odd sight to see the King and Knights of Camelot in such a position, but it was the only means of defense at the time.

They began making their way towards the hallways, aiming to get out of the castle. It was obvious that the enemy had the upper hand, and it wouldn’t be wise to fight back against so great a force without the numbers or the weapons necessary.

Upon turning the corner, they ran into another group of mercenaries. The knights glanced at each other then split into two groups and took off, knowing that their main goal was to get themselves and anyone else they could find out of the castle. Gwaine and Arthur turned back the way they had come and tore down a different hallway while Percival, Leon, and Elyan took off down another hallway. The mercenaries split up as well and gave chase.

Gwaine and Arthur easily outran their followers and took cover behind pillars as the sounds of marching feet and clambering boots reached their ears. Gwaine risked a glance around the pillar, and Arthur knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong when his body went stiff and his eyes narrowed.

“What? What is it?” he asked urgently, leaning over to take a look around the pillar himself, but he was jerked back by Gwaine.

“It’s nothing, mate, just Morgana, let’s keep moving--” he attempted to reassure the king, but Arthur was adamant. He pushed Gwaine’s hands off of him and ignored his agitated whispers, ducking underneath his extended arm in order to peek around the pillar himself.

He wished he had heeded Gwaine’s warning and kept moving.

The army was humongous, and Arthur abolished all hope of being able to fight them off. Morgana marched at the head of the large mass of mercenaries, sending knights flying left and right with a flick of her fingers when they got into her way. But that wasn’t what had made Arthur’s knees nearly collapse under him and what had made him feel like his innards had been ripped out of him and burned.

There, at Morgana’s left side, marched Agravaine. His uncle cut down a knight of Camelot before his very eyes with a well aimed dagger, and carelessly stepped over the corpse when it dropped.

He finally gave into Gwaine’s insistent pulling and moved back behind the pillar. Suddenly exhausted, he leaned back against it, overwhelmed by the feeling of betrayal that he knew he should have been accustomed to.

Agravaine. His own uncle. The last family he had left. _A traitor_. Arthur was suddenly filled with a fierce anger, and he mindlessly began moving in the direction of the army, armed with nothing but his fury.

Gwaine grabbed him before the mercenaries of the army could notice him and pinned him against the pillar, keeping him there even as he struggled.

“Arthur, _Arthur_ , listen to me! He betrayed you, I know he did, but you can’t take revenge on him if you’re dead! You need to _live_ for your people! Think of your people, Arthur, they’re helpless without you! You can’t help them if you engage now and get yourself _killed_!” Gwaine whispered vehemently, straining as Arthur struggled against him. He tightened his muscles and replanted his feet, set on not allowing Arthur to endeavor on his desired suicide mission, but he really needn’t have bothered. Arthur felt limp against the pillar after his words, and he cast his head down, allowing Gwaine to read the defeated pose for what it was.

“My own _uncle_ ,” he whispered quietly, and Gwaine felt his fists clench in anger against the pain that the traitor had made his friends suffer through. He rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, offering comfort in the only way he knew how to.

“You’ll get your revenge, mate, with all of us -- with all of the people that are _truly_ loyal to you, that would _die_ for you,” he whispered fiercely, and Arthur turned to look at him with blue eyes filled with pain.

Gwaine’s heart tightened, and his fury against the traitorous snake grew.

He clasped Arthur’s shoulder tightly with the hand resting on it, promising to give Agravaine the most painful and drawn out death that he could.

Arthur sighed quietly, closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. They were clear of the hurt that had filled them before, and Gwaine knew that now the king was thinking clearly, and wasn’t blinded by his pain and anger. The two gave each other a sharp nod, then, after taking a glance around the pillar to make sure the coast was clear, began to sprint in the direction of the large masses of terrified people struggling to get out of the castle.

Gwaine panted out roughly as he punched a mercenary that had grabbed the man next to him and sent him to the floor with a kick between his legs. He noticed Arthur glancing worriedly around them at the sheer amount of people that still needed to escape.

“Don’t worry, mate, we’ll get them all out. _It’s only a matter of time.”_

_‘It’s only a matter of time’_

Arthur suddenly jerked to a halt, his blue eyes going wide.

_“Merlin,”_ he whispered.

Gwaine turned to face him, also having stopped, and panic crossed his features.

Arthur grabbed him, knowing that the people would need all the help they could get in order to escape.

“You need to stay here, I’ll go get Merlin. _You need to stay here_.”

Gwaine’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur cut him off once more.

“ _Please,_ Gwaine, _Please_ … You need to help the people escape, I’ll get Merlin, _please_ . They’re more likely to notice two people than one. Please, I _need_ to do this alone.”

Gwaine brow furrowed with conflict and he looked deeply into Arthur’s eyes, unable to make a decision.

“Fine,” he snarled, angry at both himself and Arthur for leaving one of their closest friends behind. He grabbed Arthur as the blond man began to turn away, halting him before he could sprint in the direction of the dungeons.

“You’ve already wronged him once, don’t let the same mistake happen again. _Find him, and get him out_.”

With that, Gwaine pushed him in the direction of the dungeons then turned to yell something at the other knights of Camelot, snapping them out of their panic and getting them to help the young and the wounded.

Arthur turned and began sprinting once more. He grabbed a sword off of one of the fallen mercenaries and held it in his hand, _ruthlessly_ cutting down mercenaries left and right that dared to get in his way.

_Merlin had been right all along, and he hadn’t believed him._

_Merlin had tried to warn him, had tried to help him, but he had turned him away._

_Merlin, who had only ever offered him help, advice, friendship,_ **_love_ ** _._

_Merlin, who had stuck by him despite being blamed and belittled for Agravaine’s misdeeds._

_Merlin, who he constantly pushed aside and deemed unworthy despite him proving himself anything but._

_Merlin, who he **loved** the same way he had once loved Gwen, but at the same time more deeply and more all-encompassing than what he had felt for her._

God, Arthur _hated_ himself. Hated himself for pushing away the one person that he knew internally would never betray him. Hated himself for allowing Agravaine to fill him with so much doubt that he even began to doubt the one person who he loved more than anyone, than anything. How was it so easy for Arthur to hurt him over and over again when Merlin had never doubted him before, had never wronged him? Merlin was the one person that he knew he could rely on, and yet Arthur seemed incapable of trusting him.

_Never again._

Never again would he betray the trust that Merlin so wholly put in him. He would listen from now on. God, _if only he had listened_ . Merlin had been dropping hints for fortnights now. Why couldn’t Arthur just swallow his defensiveness and his pride and just _listen_?

He dropped the mercenary that had taken up position right outside the dungeons and stepped over the man’s still body without glancing back. Deeming the area safe, he dropped the sword he had stolen from its defensive position in front of him and began checking inside each cell, panic and fear building as each was empty of the person he was looking for.

_There!_

Arthur hurried over to the cell with his manservant in it and pressed his face up against the bars.

Merlin was laying on his side on the dingy floor, facing away from Arthur. His body was sprawled in a position that would’ve been awkward on anyone else but seemed beautiful with him. Arthur couldn’t see his face, but he knew that the moonlight shining in through the cell’s tiny window with bars on it would illuminate those beautiful light pink lips, the smooth, soft pale skin, the long, dark lashes that fluttered against elegantly high cheekbones.

He swallowed harshly, remembering how he had ordered the guards to drag Merlin to the dungeons. Remembering how Merlin’s shoulders had sagged and how he had gone without a fight.

_Never again_

“Merlin!” he called out, “Merlin, get up! You were right about Agravaine. I’m--I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you.”

Merlin didn’t so much as stir.

“Merlin,” Arthur called, getting desperate, “Please, I know you’re angry, and it’s understandable. Let’s get out of here, then you can yell at me and insult me and call me names to your heart’s content, yeah?”

Merlin remained motionless.

“Merlin?”

It was then that Arthur noticed that Merlin seemed curled in on himself. That he seemed to be hugging himself. It was then that he noticed the dark stain on the dirty ground partially covered by Merlin’s slender body. It was then that he noticed that Merlin was barely breathing, his body barely even rising and falling with the force of his breaths.

“ _Merlin!_ ” his voice had suddenly taken on a desperate tone, but Arthur refused to acknowledge why. Upon rattling the cell door once more, he found it unlocked and he threw it open. He warily approached Merlin’s still body, then dropped to his knees when he had gotten close enough.

His hand trembled as he reached out towards his manservant, grasped him by the shoulder, and rolled him over so that he was lying on his back and so Arthur could see his face.

Merlin’s eyes were closed, and his features were relaxed as if in sleep, but the dark red that soaked his clothing and his hands spoke otherwise. Arthur’s eyes slowly drifted down until they found the source.

A dagger, buried all the way to the hilt in his Merlin’s body. Arthur felt bile push its way to the back of his throat as he took in the gruesome wound.

_Wounds_ , Arthur suddenly realized. There were two. Whoever had done this had stabbed his Merlin twice. How much it must’ve hurt to have had the blade rip its way through flesh only to be yanked out to tear in anew.

Snapping himself out of his horrified stupor, he quickly checked Merlin’s pulse even though he had seen the feeble breathing for himself, wanting to assure himself that the boy’s heart still beat, that he could be saved despite his wounds.

He gently propped up Merlin’s head on his knees as gently gripped the hilt of the dagger, knowing that it had to come out. He pulled gently until the blade was completely out of Merlin, who hadn’t even twitched at the pain, and pressed his other hand to the wound in order to staunch the bleeding that had started anew.

He lifted his hand to toss the dagger to the side, but the pattern of the hilt caught his eye, and he brought it to his eye level.

_Agravaine_

His uncle had done this. The very man that he had defended against Merlin’s accusations. Disgusted with himself, he tossed the blade to the side, hating everything about both it and the person that it belonged to.

He ripped off strips of his own simple tunic and began wrapping the wound as best as he could. Despite his efforts, the wound continued to bleed heavily and the blood soaked through the bindings.

Panicking, Arthur gathered Merlin’s slender body into his arms and lifted him with an arm underneath his shoulders and another underneath his knees. Merlin’s head lolled lifelessly and Arthur took the care to prop it against his shoulder in order to prevent any additional discomfort.

Glancing down at Merlin’s face with its vulnerable set against his shoulder made Arthur’s heart twinge, and he reverently pressed his lips to the boy’s forehead. He wouldn’t be able to fight with Merlin in his arms like this, nor did he want to, for engaging in a fight had the possibility of injuring Merlin further.

For once in his life, Arthur ran. He ran from the fight. Ran from revenge, from justice. He ran without his sword, without any weapon. He ran to protect the one that he loved above everything. He glanced down hallways ad pathways and treaded more carefully than he ever had before, afraid for once of the threats that lingered within them. Afraid not for himself, but for the precious package in his arms whose life he valued more than his own.

He made it out of the castle with ease and continued to sprint, giving no time to catch his breath or to ease the stabbing pains in his lungs. His legs felt like they would give out at any minute, but still he ran. He stumbled into the forest and sprinted madly, blindly, in the general direction he knew the castle that had provided them shelter before would be. The castle from which they had taken the Round Table.

His mind worked almost as quickly as his legs did.

_His not trusting Merlin had nearly led to the boy’s death_

_He had thrown Merlin aside and left him vulnerable to attack_

_His selfishness and his pride had cost Merlin deeply_

_It was all his fault_

_Never again_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any other day, Merlin to sitting still and remaining quiet would have been counted a blessing, but now Arthur would give anything for Merlin to just show some sign of life, to get up and fidget, to pace endlessly, _anything_.

Any other day, Merlin to sitting still and remaining quiet would have been counted a blessing, but now Arthur would give anything for Merlin to just show some sign of life, to get up and fidget, to pace endlessly,  _ anything. _ Anything other than this lifeless body that currently lay on the single cot that they had managed to dig out of the depths of the abandoned castle. 

Arthur sat next to Merlin’s bedside in what had to be the most uncomfortable wooden chair of all time, but he didn’t notice the discomfort, he didn’t notice his aching joints; he only had eyes for Merlin. Merlin who lay still and silent on his side, facing Arthur. Merlin whose features were relaxed and serene, whose chest rose and fell steadily with each breath that he took. Merlin who had thick bandages that were already slightly stained through with blood wrapped around his torso. 

Gaius had said that it was a miracle that the dagger hadn’t punctured anything fatal. That it was a miracle that Merlin hadn’t bled out by the time Arthur finally got him to safety. The whole time Gaius had been treating his manservant, Arthur had hovered restlessly at his shoulder, afraid to look away from the rise and fall of his servant’s chest for even a second in case it suddenly went still. 

He hadn’t acknowledged the other knights who had made it to the castle, he hadn’t even spared a glance at Guinevere, sweet Guinevere--the woman whom he had loved with his whole being a few weeks prior--when she showed up and attempted to usher him away from the bloodstained man on the cot. Her beautiful doe eyes had flicked from his face to Merlin’s still body, and she had suddenly backed off, giving him a sad, knowing smile that he refused to look into out of fear for what it implied.

The other knights of the Round Table, the ones that he had knighted in this very castle, stuck with him for the first few hours of his silent vigil, scattered in various position both on and around Merlin’s cot. Every hour that passed with no sign of awareness on Merlin’s part seemed to make them more and more miserable, and one by one, they silently stood and left, too pained by the sight of the motionless and quiet servant who was normally so vibrant and bubbly. Each one laid a reassuring hand on Arthur’s shoulder before they turned away, wanting to offer him support despite all of them being in different stages of grief. 

Gwaine held out the longest, and when he finally stood up from where he had been perched on Merlin’s bed by his head, gently running his hand through the boy’s soft hair, he took a second to correct the thin blankets around Merlin’s form so that he wouldn’t be cold, stooped to place a gentle kiss on the servant’s forehead, then walked to Arthur’s side and clasped his shoulder, grounding him, as all the other knights had done. Arthur said nothing. He didn’t even turn in the direction of the knight that he had come to call on of his closest friends. He was too afraid that the rugged knight would see the tears that he was desperately trying to keep from falling down his face. 

Somehow, Gwaine seemed to understand, and for once, he didn’t call Arthur on his bluff. He simply gave a small humorless snuff of laughter. The long haired man went to leave, but suddenly paused, his hand still on Arthur’s shoulder.

“...I know you’re afraid of what your kingdom will think, of what your people will think. You’re afraid to say what you want to, to do what you wish to, and you’re afraid to love again after you’ve been hurt so many times.”

Arthur stiffened at the man’s words, but made no move to stop him or to get away from him, which Gwaine took as a good sign, and he plowed on, wanting to say what he needed to before Arthur could shut him out.

“I know you’re afraid, but I also know that Merlin has done more for you than you could ever understand. I know that he stays up late, unable to sleep, because he is worrying for you. I know that, somedays, he can’t even bring himself to eat a single bite because he is too anxious about your future.”

From the angle that he was at, Gwaine could easily see the tears that were in Arthur’s eyes. The tears that he had refused to let fall in the presence of his knights because he didn’t want them to know the fear that he was feeling. The tears that they all had seen anyways but had said nothing about. Gwaine could also see how Arthur’s eyes softened with concern at the mention of Merlin not eating or sleeping well, and he hid a small smile and continued speaking.

“I also know that the only reason he said those things, the only reason he tested you time and time again in recent days was because he was  _ afraid, _ ” he saw Arthur’s brow crinkle in confusion, and he elaborated. “He was afraid that Agravaine--,” Arthur flinched at the name, and Gwaine felt a cold curl of fury in his gut, “would turn you against him in the same manner that he managed to turn you against the other people that you had trusted. He was afraid that you would see him as useless and worthless and that you would toss him aside and open yourself up to even more danger in the process.”

Gwaine watched as Arthur’s face took on a look of guilt and disbelief. 

“I...I would  _ never _ think of him as--as  _ worthless _ ,” he spat the word with disgust as if the mere idea of Merlin being considered useless revolted him. “Is that...is that truly what he thinks? He thinks he means nothing to me?” Arthur finally turned in his direction despite the tears that were still in his eyes, yet to fall down his cheeks, and Gwaine felt humbled by the fact that Arthur trusted him enough to let him see this side of the blond man.

“He… he means  _ everything  _ to me. The only reason I threw him into the dungeons was because I was--I was hurt, and I only said the things I said to him because I wanted him to feel the same hurt he had made me feel,” Arthur admitted quietly, looking away from Gwaine once more, out of embarrassment or out of the need to look at Merlin and assure himself that the servant was still breathing Gwaine didn’t know. Nonetheless, he gently squeezed the king’s shoulder, wanting to offer comfort.

“Then tell him that. Tell him the truth. Tell him that you worry about him, that you care about him, that you need him, that you  _ love _ him,” Arthur stiffened to the point that the muscles under Gwaine’s hand seemed more like rock than flesh. Gwaine kneaded the tensed muscles. “Is that what’s holding you back? You’re ashamed of him?”

“ _ No! _ ” The king’s sharp statement came out louder than he’d expected, and Gwaine felt the need to suppress another smile. 

“No, of course I’m not ashamed of him,” Arthur said once more, lowering his voice to a more appropriate level. 

“Then what?” Gwaine already knew the answer; he knew what was holding Arthur back from approaching Merlin the way he wanted to, but he needed to make sure that Arthur himself knew.

“I’m…. _ I’m scared, _ ” the childish statement paired with the way that Arthur turned his head down made Gwaine’s heart twist, and he continued to knead the muscles in his friend’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him.

“Not only is he a servant, but he’s also a  _ man _ . That means nothing to me personally, but to my people? How will they respond? What if they reject my leadership because of the person that I’ve… that I’ve chosen to  _ love _ ?” Arthur’s voice was still quiet, but the way that he looked up at Gwaine spoke volumes about how long Arthur had harbored these thoughts, about how long he had battled with his desires in his mind.

“I….  _ I love him _ , I know I do,” Arthur whispered, turning his gaze back to Merlin once more. “But I’m afraid. I’ve slayed monsters, dragons, sorcerers, demons without even batting an eye,” he laughed depreciatively. “And yet the simple idea of telling him how I feel, of acting on my feelings  _ terrifies  _ me.”

Gwaine smiled softly, Arthur’s words having only confirmed what he had already known for years. What  _ everyone  _ had known for years.

“He nearly died two days ago,” Gwaine said quietly, the smile falling off his face at the mere thought, “but somehow,  _ somehow _ , he survived. He’s  _ alive _ . I saw your face when you stormed in, carrying him in your arms, blood all over the both of you. You were desperate. You were scared. You would have done anything to get him to open his eyes again.”

“I would still do anything to get him to open his eyes,” Arthur muttered.

“You nearly lost him. You nearly lost him and he didn’t even have the faintest clue about what you feel for him. You would have been forced to live a life without him, never knowing how he felt about you or knowing what you could’ve been together. Is that really a chance you want to take?”

Arthur’s eyes didn’t leave Merlin’s prone body, but his hands trembled when they came up to wipe at his face. Gwaine knew without even looking at his friend’s face that the tears that he had tried so desperately to keep hidden had begun to fall.

“I know you’re scared, and it’s alright to be. But think of what could have happened, think about how much could have been lost. Either one of you could have died, and somehow you’ve both been given another chance. What if you hadn’t been?” Gwaine questioned softly, and with one last squeeze to his friend’s shoulders, he turned and walked away, looking for an open spot on the floor on which he could sleep for the night. Gwaine had said his part, Arthur had to make his own decision from here.

Arthur sniffled and scrubbed at his face angrily, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he felt more at peace with himself after admitting his feelings. Who knew Gwaine could be so observant?

He got up from the wooden chair that he had been sitting in with little break for the past two days, wincing when his joints and muscles that had been cramped into the tiny chair protested the sudden change in position. He made his way to the cot that Merlin was lying on, and took up Gwaine’s former position on the cot next to Merlin. 

He reached over and cupped Merlin’s soft cheek, running his thumb over his boy’s full, pink lips. He remembered what Gwaine had said earlier, and he blindly searched for Merlin’s hand with the hand that was currently free, grasping onto it and seeking out his servant’s pulse, relaxing slightly when he could feel the soft, but steady pulse of it against the pad of his thumb.  

The hand on Merlin’s face moved to his hair instead, brushing the soft brown strands back and out of the boy’s face and then running his hand through the mop. Merlin sighed softly in his slumber and Arthur froze. Merlin hadn’t so much as stirred for the past two days, not even when Gaius had cleaned and dressed his gruesome wounds; He hadn’t even shown any signs of life other than his rising and falling chest that occasionally stuttered and slowed but always fell back into the same steady rhythmic pattern. 

Merlin’s eyes moved rapidly beneath his closed eyelids, and he let out a whimper, leaning into Arthur’s hand. His face scrunched up as if he was in pain, and Arthur felt his heart clench at the vulnerable set in the beautiful face.

He moved his hand back to Merlin’s cheek and cupped it once more, smiling sadly when the boy let out another whimper and leaned into his hand, turning his face slightly in the direction of him. He wound his other hand’s fingers between Merlin’s limp ones and startled when the long fingers spasmed in his hand before absentmindedly squeezing.

Arthur could see the small frenzied movements of Merlin’s eyes behind his closed eyelids and he let out a shaky breath, bringing Merlin’s hand to his lips and gently placing soft, butterfly kisses against the back of it.

Merlin made another sound in the back of his throat and his legs twitched, his breathing becoming quicker as his face furrowed as if he was struggling to pull himself out of unconsciousness.

Arthur stroked his thumb over Merlin’s angular cheekbones and let it brush over the boy’s bottom lip, revelling in the softness of it and in the way the unconscious man pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, making a face as if the gentle touch had tickled.

Arthur realized he had been holding his breath and let it out in a soft rush, ignoring how shaky it sounded.

“Merlin?” the boy in question’s head turned towards him and he felt his heart thump in his chest wildly.

“Come now, Merlin, you know how annoying I can get when I don’t get what I want right when I want it, and right now I want you to open your eyes,” he whispered softly, caressing the soft cheek in his hand and occasionally running his thumb over the boy’s sensitive lips just to see the face he made at the apparently ticklish sensation.

“It’s not nice to keep your king waiting, Merlin, you know that,” Merlin’s lips twitched as if he were about to smile, and his breath came out in a soft huff as if he were exasperated.

Despite the simplicity of the reaction, Arthur felt his heart soar:  _ He was waking up! _

“Please, Merlin, please wake up. I need to see you awake. I need to hear you talking my ears off with your constant chatter, need to see your smile, I need to-- _ I need you _ ,” the admission was quiet, but Arthur was sure Merlin had heard it.

Suddenly the boy went still once more, and, crushed, Arthur tried once more to get him to show any form of reaction, but to no avail. Merlin had returned once more to his comatose state.

Upset, Arthur hunched in on himself, reminding himself that Merlin had literally been impaled and that he couldn’t expect him to be up and back on his feet the very next day. Sighing softly, he ran his thumb over those lips again, suddenly filled with the strong desire to see how they felt moulded against his own. 

Almost absentmindedly, he slowly leaned down so that his own slightly chapped lips were a mere breath away from Merlin’s. Coming back to himself, but still unwilling to move away out of curiosity and desire, he hovered there for another moment before closing that small gap and pressing his lips oh-so-gently against those of Merlin. 

The pillow-soft texture of the boy’s lips was surprising even with him having felt them with his fingers, and he applied just the smallest amount of pressure before pulling away, their lips separating with a soft sound. Arthur stayed leaned over Merlin for another moment, just looking at his servant’s face, those full lips that always pulled up into a gorgeous smile when he was happy, his messy raven hair, his long eyelashes that brushed the sharp edges of his angular cheekbones--god Merlin was  _ beautiful _ . If only he would wake up so Arthur could tell him so to his face, so he could see those smooth, pale cheeks fill with pink as the boy ducked his head from both embarrassment and shyness; He had never been the best at taking compliments. 

The corners of Arthur's lips pulled up into a sad smile at the thought, and he was suddenly desperate to see his manservant’s eyes open, to see the man he loved smile, to feel him wrapped around Arthur’s body, hands tangled in his hair and his lips pressed against Arthur’s own. He longed to kiss Merlin properly, to make him feel breathless and treasured and _not_ _worthless_ as he apparently believed himself to be. He longed to curl up with Merlin in his arms during the nights in which he felt that his large bed was too large for just him alone and feel the slender frame against his own bulky one in the dark. He imagined feeling Merlin’s face pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He longed to wake up to Merlin smiling at him in the morning. He longed for _so much_.

With a soft sigh, he gently rose from Merlin’s cot, not able to stand his manservant being so close yet so untouchably far at the same time. He made his way back over to the uncomfortable-as-all-hell wooden chair and made to settle back in it with a tired sigh.

“ _ Arthur _ ?”

Arthur froze with his back still to the cot, and he inhaled a shaky breath. He turned slowly, unconsciously holding his breath, hoping he hadn’t imagined the soft voice. 

Merlin had lifted his torso slightly off the bed with his arms, which Arthur could clearly see shaking with the effort even with the distance between them. Those deep blue eyes were focused blearily on his form, and he was blinking rapidly as if he were trying to clear them. The injured man was licking his lips repeatedly, attempting to bring some moisture back into them, apparently. Arthur absently remembered the soft texture of Merlin’s lips against his own and mused that the boy needn’t worry, then instantly felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at the thought. 

He startled when Merlin suddenly let out a small whimper as one of his trembling arms gave out and his torso fell back on the bed, jostling his still unhealed wound. Arthur hurried forward as the other man tried to prop himself up once more.

Arthur managed to wrap his arms around Merlin’s waist right as his shaking arms gave out once more. He tightened his grip and, seeing as the cot wasn’t up against any walls and didn’t have any form of headboard to lean up against, gently maneuvered Merlin’s body so that Arthur was able to sit down on the cot next to him in such a way that their sides were lined up. 

Merlin let out a grateful sound and rested his head against Arthur’s shoulder, leaning into the arms that were still wrapped around his waist. Arthur realized that he had been applying pressure to the wounded area without realizing and looked at Merlin’s face, searching for any signs of pain.

Merlin gave him a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and assured him quietly, 

“The bandages are making it burn, but when you put pressure on it, the pain is slightly alleviated.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something,  _ anything _ ; He wanted to apologize, to confess, to promise that the same would never happen again, but every time he opened his mouth, it was as if the words in his head vanished and he was left with no knowledge of what to say. He could feel Merlin’s body burning a hot brand against his side, and he felt as if his heart was beating out of his chest with how close in proximity the other man was to him. Merlin’s body, however, remained stiff and filled with tension against his; Even his head, which was resting against his shoulder, seemed to be on the very, very edge of Arthur’s broad shoulders -- as if Merlin was afraid to put too much of his weight against his king.

The thought made Arthur push past his sudden illiteracy to finally open his mouth and apologize properly to the boy leaning against him.

“Merlin…  _ God, Merlin _ , I’m so sorry,” he whispered, gently unhooking one hand from around the lean boy’s waist so that he could prop Merlin’s head properly against his shoulder. He felt his servant jerk back when the hand came towards his face, and he closed his eyes at the implication, remembering how he had grabbed Merlin’s slender wrist and yanked him around before throwing him to the floor with his harsh grip on it. 

_ He had hurt his Merlin _

He didn’t retract his hand completely, but rather slowed its ascent considerably, and upon feeling Merlin let out a shaky breath, carefully cupped the boy’s chin and adjusted Merlin’s position so that the boy’s head was fully supported by his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Merlin’s voice was small and quiet, and Arthur knew that, had he not been in such close proximity to the boy, that he would not have heard it.

“What do you mean--it’s most certainly  _ not  _ alright, Merlin. What I did was horrible! You’ve done nothing but what you believe is the best for me from the very first day you came into my service, and, despite this, every time that you say something I am unwilling to hear, I treat you like dirt!” Arthur was vehement, but Merlin maintained his forgiveness.

“What I did wasn’t right. I was insolent, and I needed to be punished. You’re always telling me that I need to learn to respect those above me. I’ve...I’ve learnt my lesson. I...I won’t speak out of turn anymore, and I… I apologize for the things that I said earlier,” Merlin’s voice was quiet and detached, and he had yet to move to look Arthur in the eyes.

Arthur felt something inside him clench.

“Merlin… there was nothing wrong with what you said. You were only telling me the truth. You’ve never lied to me, at least not about anything severely important,” Arthur felt Merlin inhale sharply, and he suddenly paused, wanting to look into the meaning of the sound, but decided to let it go for now. “Agravaine  _ was _ the traitor. He  _ was _ turning me against everyone that I loved. He  _ was  _ using me as a means to an end. I saw him cut down knights of Camelot before my own eyes. I saw him walk in line with Morgana as they stormed the castle.  _ You were right, Merlin _ , and I should have listened to you instead of sending you away because I was afraid of the implications of what you were claiming.” 

Merlin said nothing.

“Merlin, I value your opinion so,  _ so  _ much. All the men in my council could say one thing, but if you said the opposite, I would listen to  _ you  _ because -- because you’re the bravest and the wisest man I’ve ever known and because I look up to you more than I do anyone else.” 

Had it been anyone else, Arthur would never have let himself admit all these things, but this was  _ Merlin _ , this was the man that Arthur would trust with his life, his crown, his sword, his  _ people _ .

Merlin was quiet for a moment.

“Sire… You’re the king. You shouldn’t value the opinion of a servant over those of your equals.”

Arthur felt himself filled with an irrational sense of anger. Anger directed at himself, at his father, at Gaius, at Agravaine, at Morgana, at  _ everyone  _ who had ever made Merlin think so little of himself.

“I wouldn’t have believed my words had I been in your place either. I didn’t take into account your feelings, how hurt you might have been by what I was saying. I didn’t even think about the fact that I was addressing the king, that I was addressing someone above me. You were right, I _never_ _think_ ,” Merlin’s voice lapsed into frustration and anger at himself. “I didn’t take into account anything other than my own fear and--,”

Arthur pulled back from Merlin suddenly, and Merlin instantly jerked back, lifting his head from Arthur’s shoulder and going silent. The two had been sitting side by side, not making eye contact as they spoke, but now Arthur turned to face Merlin properly, wanting to see his face, his eyes as he said what he wanted to say. He had let go of Merlin’s waist when he had moved away, but now he reached out again, slowly this time, as to not startle Merlin again.

Merlin eyed the hands like a frightened animal would, but Arthur continued their trajectory and firmly grasped the boy’s slender waist when he could, gently and carefully pulling him closer with his grip on them. He adjusted Merlin so that the boy was facing him as well, carefully folding the leg that had been against him when they were sitting side to side underneath the boy’s body so that he could get more comfortable. He did the same with his own leg, so that one leg was tucked underneath his body and the other was dangling off the bed, mirroring Merlin’s position. He then repositioned his hands, one sliding down to rest lightly on the boy’s hip and the other coming up to cup his soft cheek.

Despite facing him now, Merlin had his head tilted downwards, at the thin sheet that they had managed to obtain to cover the cot. Arthur used the hand on the boy’s cheek to tilt his head upwards, so that Merlin was looking at him. Merlin resisted the pressure at first, but then gave in when it was clear that Arthur was not going to allow him to avoid his gaze any longer. 

Merlin’s eyes were weary when they finally met Arthur’s, and Arthur tried to calm the boy’s clearly frazzled nerves by smiling reassuringly at him. The gesture did seem to calm Merlin down somewhat, for he gave him a careful twitch of the lips back.

“Listen to me very closely, Merlin, for I need you to get this through that incredibly thick head of yours,” Merlin nodded, his beautiful, wide eyes impossibly blue. “You are  _ not  _ just a servant. Not to me, not to anyone that matters. You’ve given so much for everyone, and taken so little in return. You are the counsel I seek, the one person I can trust with anything--with everything. You mean  _ so much  _ to me, and I know it would  _ destroy _ me if I lost you.”

Merlin’s big, blue doe eyes went wide at the confession, and he let out a small sound as Arthur’s thumb traced gently over his full bottom lip. He seemed at a loss for words, and Arthur chuckled quietly at the impossible feat that he had achieved.

“You inspire me in a way that no one ever has before, not my father, not Agravaine, not even Guinevere. No matter how many times I do wrong by you or hurt you, you always keep your faith in me. You make me want to be a better person simply because you believe in me, because you stand by me through everything, looking at me with that full, unshakeable trust that you always look at me with,” Arthur ran his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, smiling when the boy’s eyes fluttered and he leaned into it. 

“When you advise me, even if I don’t listen at first, I always keep it in my mind, a constant reminder, because I know you’re probably going to be right because you almost always are. I trust you with everything.  _ You aren’t worthless to me _ . I care for you so much. I value you. I  _ treasure  _ you. I…  _ I love you _ ,” Arthur finished quietly, suddenly nervous. He moved his gaze away from Merlin’s intense, probing one, and instead looked past him, afraid of the boy’s reaction. He dropped the hand that had been cupping the boy’s cheek, but didn’t move the one resting lightly on his hip.

He startled when a hand came to rest lightly on his chest, not pushing him away, not pulling him closer, but just resting there, right above his heart. He let out a shaky breath and moved his gaze back to Merlin’s face. Merlin smiled softly at him, a smile that reached his eyes and crinkled them at the corners. His other hand, the one not on Arthur’s chest came up to the place where Arthur’s neck met his shoulder, and he gently squeezed at the tense muscles he found there.

Arthur gave him a careful smile in return, opening his mouth to ask what Merlin was doing when the hands holding him suddenly tugged on him with surprising strength. Arthur leaned forward slightly, hardly daring to hope that Merlin was asking for what he believed he was asking for. 

He deliberately rested his other hand on Merlin’s other hip and squeezed with both hands, letting his thumbs run over the sharp bones.

Merlin presented him with another shy smile at Arthur’s questioning gaze and gave him a small nod.

Arthur surged forward and pressed his lips eagerly to Merlin’s, moving one of his hands to loop around Merlin’s back while they other stayed on his hip to keep his boy from toppling backwards. Merlin let out a surprised sound, but smiled into the kiss and moved his hands upwards to wrap behind Arthur’s neck, tracing lazy circles on the exposed skin he found there with his thumbs. 

Arthur tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, and Merlin let out a soft sound in the back of his throat and tangled his fingers in the short hairs at the base of Arthur’s skull at the movement. Arthur let out a small growl at the sudden pain, and Merlin shivered in reaction, opening his mouth to Arthur’s wandering tongue, sighing as it met with and carressed his own. 

A throat cleared expectantly to the side of them.

Both leaped apart, red in the face. Merlin quickly retracted his hands from Arthur’s body as if he had been burned and chanced a look at Arthur’s face. Arthur, while having leapt back similar to Merlin, kept his hands where they were, assuring Merlin when the boy glanced at him that this wasn’t something he wanted to hide. They both turned to face the new voice together.

Gwaine stood there with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his hip cocked to one side, a playful smile on his face. Arthur let out a groan and buried his head in Merlin’s shoulder.

“ _ Gwaiiinneee…” _

Gwaine laughed, 

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t help it. I just wanted to see the look on your faces. Hilarious, by the way.”

Arthur lifted his head from Merlin’s shoulder and growled playfully at him while Merlin laughed quietly.

Gwaine smiled at them both. He eyed the hands that were wrapped around Merlin’s waist and the hands that were gently resting on Arthur’s chest. He watched as Merlin seemingly unconsciously leaned into Arthur’s embrace, sighing softly as the blonde man reverently pressed a kiss to his temple.

He made his way over to where the two lovebirds were seated and carefully sat down behind Merlin, wrapping his arms around the boy’s upper body in a tight hug. 

“I’m glad you’re alright, Merlin. I don’t know would’ve happened if you hadn’t pulled through.”

Merlin smiled softly.

“You’d all be dead within a few days if I weren’t here, that’s what would’ve happened,” he replied cheekily, leaning back into Gwaine’s brotherly embrace as much as his still twinging wound and Arthur’s arms around his waist would let him, smiling when he felt Gwaine chuckle and press a fond kiss to his hair. Merlin sighed happily and felt his eyes begin to droop, the excitement of the night suddenly taking its toll on his still weak body. 

Gwaine let out another soft chuckle as he felt Merlin’s weight become steadily heavier and he began to lean more and more on Gwaine. Arthur pressed his lips to Merlin’s one more time, just because he could, feeling giddy when Merlin chased his lips for more after the soft peck. 

He released Merlin, ignoring the rather adorable whine that came from his--his  _ lover _ \--and allowed the man to rest against Gwaine while he pulled back the sheets underneath him so that Merlin could lie down properly. 

Gwaine helped Arthur maneuver Merlin’s lanky body into the cot so that he was resting comfortably, all the while Merlin mumbled and murmured incoherent complaints like a child.

Merlin grasped onto Arthur’s wrist when he made to move back to the regrettably uncomfortable wooden chair that sat a few feet away from the cot, letting out a small whine when Arthur tried to pry his wrist out of the surprisingly strong grip.

Gwaine put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the cot, combatting the incredulous look that Arthur sent him with his own dry one.

“He needs you more than that chair does, trust me. And you’ll be doing your back a favor by laying beside him rather than sitting in that thing, anyways.”

Arthur gave his knight a smile, clasping his shoulder as Gwaine made to walk away.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have had the courage to confess how I felt about him without your encouragement,” he said quietly, not meeting the rugged knight’s eyes out of embarrassment.

Gwaine simply ruffled his hair, smirking at the indignant noise that Arthur let out at the gesture, and nodded before heading back to his own sleeping space, bidding both Merlin and Arthur a good night as he went.

Merlin, who was still holding onto Arthur’s wrist, gave the appendage an insistent yank that almost sent Arthur careening on top of Merlin. He steadied himself before he could fall and damage his lover anymore, giving him an exasperated look when the boy smiled bashfully up at him, releasing his wrist sheepishly.

Arthur climbed into the bed so that he was facing Merlin and pulled him closer with arms around his waist when he had settled properly underneath the thin sheet, mindful of the boy’s injuries.

Merlin sleepily blinked at him, tilting his head accordingly when Arthur leaned down for one more kiss, lingering this time. Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed and remained closed even after they had parted. The soft smile on his lips and the rosy blush in his cheeks, however, assured Arthur that the boy was not in any needless pain. He gently carded a hand through Merlin’s bird’s nest of a head and used his grip on the back of the boy’s head to push him into the crook between his neck and shoulder. His lover settled there willingly, rubbing his face back and forth across the soft skin he found there and inhaling softly the scent that had always calmed him. 

Merlin’s hands came up to rest against Arthur’s chest, one settling right over his heart while the other slid across his chest to finally find its resting place against Arthur’s side, his ribs, so that he could feel his king’s chest rise and fall with each breath he took. The repetitive motion seemed to calm him.

The younger man pressed a soft kiss to the golden skin of his lover’s collarbone, feeling content when he felt the well-muscled arms around him squeeze softly, pulling him closer still.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“I love you, too, you complete and utter prat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, yeah, I know this is literally a month late, and that I said that the latest that this would be up was like a week after I posted the first chapter, whoops. I'm here now, though! Hope you all enjoyed. Please let me know in the comments if one last chapter for this fic would be appropriate. I kinda wanted to address the issue of Merlin's magic, but I didn't feel that this was the right time. Another chapter should wrap it up, but I'm still unsure. Let me know in the comments, please! Hope you all enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine stuttered, “Merlin, _Merlin_ , tell us it isn’t true, tell us-- _tell us--_ ”
> 
> But Merlin only had eyes for Arthur, who felt like his world was falling apart around him.
> 
> “ _I only ever used it for you, Arthur. It was all for you. Please…_ **_please_ ** _…”_
> 
> And tears were falling from Merlin’s blue, blue eyes, and he was _crying._ His lover was _crying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. 
> 
> Yes I know, it's shocking: I'm not dead. Sorry y'all. There was just so much that I wanted to put into tis chapter but it wouldn't make sense to condense all of it into one single chapter (at least not for me), so basically I was going to end this fic with this chapter over here, but then I realized that there's still so many places that I want to take it. Still so much angst that I want to write. So I'm going to extend this fic to five chapters instead of three for this purpose. I hope you all enjoy this (extremely long) chapter, and I'll have the next one up as soon as possible (AKA not very soon, sorry).
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own Merlin, surprise, surprise

“Arthur, you can’t let Tristan get into your head. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know _anything_ about you, the real you. The only version of you that he’s seen so far is this version of you in which you’re helpless and need to rely on the people around you. He hasn’t seen the version of you that’s selfless, powerful, kind, generous-- he hasn’t seen the version of you that made me fall in love with you…” Merlin knew that Arthur was at least listening to him when his lover’s lips twitched up in a small smile and the man pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

Merlin twisted slightly in his lover’s arms so that he could catch a better glimpse of his king’s eyes, feeling a small pang inside of him when he realized that Arthur was still riddled with doubt and disappointment. 

“Arthur…”

“I’m fine, Merlin. Go to sleep; You need your rest. You’re still not completely healed,” Arthur’s voice was final and booked no room for argument.

Merlin sighed and tried anyways, “Arthur--”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur cut him off. “Go to _sleep_.”

Sometimes, when Arthur got like this, it was better to just let him be and try again later. Merlin sighed quietly and curled closer to his lover, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck despite the twinge that he felt in his gut from the wound that, much to his irritation, still wasn’t fully healed.

He tilted his head up in an attempt to meet Arthur’s lips with his own, making a whining noise in his throat when he found that he couldn’t reach without moving from the comfortable position that he’d found for himself, curled into the warmth of Arthur’s body. Merlin continues to make the noise and nudge at the parts of Arthur that he can reach until the man lets out a small chuckle and indulges him, tilting his head down and pressing his lips to Merlin’s own soft ones. Merlin let out a content sound as his eyes fluttered shut, parting his lips as Arthur begged for entrance. The kiss peppered off into smaller ones until Merlin felt breathless and had to pull away. Arthur, undeterred, tilted Merlin’s face to the side with a finger on his chin and pressed butterfly kisses to the line of Merlin’s jaw. Merlin whispered Arthur’s name and chased after his lips with his own, meeting in the middle once more. 

When the two finally parted once more, they were both breathless and flushed, and Merlin found that he had been gently gripping the small hairs at the base of Arthur’s skull. He released his grip and soothed over the area with the tips of his fingers, silently apologizing for the way he had been pulling at the hairs. 

Merlin suddenly grinned, and he knew Arthur could feel the lift of his lips against his own. 

“When I asked for a goodnight kiss, that _was not_ what I was expecting,” he said, holding back a small laugh.

Arthur also smiled, though his grin seemed more predatory than usual.

“If we weren’t in a room full of people, trust me, you would have gotten much, _much_ more than a simple kiss,” Arthur’s voice had dropped to a husky whisper, and Merlin flushed, his mind creating images and scenarios, unbidden. Arthur’s voice dropped another pitch and he moved closer to Merlin so that his mouth was next to his servant’s ear. One of his hands slid down the expanse of Merlin’s clothed back until his hand rested on his rump. 

Merlin let out a small gasp and flushed a deeper shade of red.

“ _So. Much. More_ ,” Arthur whispered huskily, punctuating his words with a squeeze of the hand on his rump. Merlin let out a squeak and buried his face in Arthur’s neck, letting out a shaky breath as Arthur’s other hand moved down to join its twin and his king gave him one more firm squeeze with a deep chuckle, using both hands this time.

“ _Arthur_ …” Merlin whimpered, clutching at his lover desperately, feeling even more flustered when Arthur squeezed one more time before loosening his grip and letting his hands circle over Merlin’s rump. Arthur’s hands moved back up to settle around Merlin’s waist and he pressed another butterfly kiss first to the shell of Merlin’s ear and then to his forehead. 

Merlin kept his face buried in Arthur’s neck, trying to calm his shaky breathing and erratically beating heart. He pulled away from Arthur when he felt his face cool down, only to feel it flame up once more when he met Arthur’s gaze and found a smug, knowing smirk on the prat’s face.

He smacked at Arthur’s chest with one hand and turned around so that his back was instead pressed into Arthur’s front. Arthur kept his hands around Merlin’s waist and pulled him closer after his servant had finished shifting.

He pressed another kiss into Merlin’s hair with another quiet laugh, and Merlin found that the sound of it made Merlin’s embarrassment worth it. At least his king had forgotten about his self-doubt. But Merlin knew that it would be back, lurking in the corners of Arthur’s mind and feeding on the insecurities and fears and doubts that his king already harbored. He had to do something to help Arthur, and he had to do it soon.

“Goodnight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, clotpole.”

… 

“ _What the hell are you playing at?!_ ” Arthur muttered angrily, turning back to Merlin as his people, his knights began emerging from the foliage around them, watching and waiting.

“I’m proving that you’re their leader and their king,” Merlin said back to him, a smile etched on his face, one that spoke of fondness and pride despite Arthur not having done anything worth deserving the sentiments.

“Merlin--” _Gods_ what was the idiot doing? How was he supposed to pull out a sword that had supposedly been stuck in a rock for hundreds of years--withstanding the push and pull of nature, the greed and cruelty of man, the power and force of weaponry--with nothing but his own bare hands?! “That sword is stuck fast in solid stone!”

“And you’re going to pull it out,” Merlin said back without missing a beat, without batting an eye. Arthur felt his eyes widen even further. He loved Merlin, he truly did, but _what was he thinking?!_

“Merlin, _it’s impossible_ ,” he tried to convince his lover in vain, afraid not of the judgement of his people when he inevitably wouldn’t be able to pull the sword out of the stone, but of the disappointment that would be on Merlin’s face when they would meet eyes once more. 

“Arthur, you’re the true king of Camelot,” Merlin responded calmly, steadfastly. _How was this boy so loyal, so faithful?_ The darker haired boy gave his king a small nod, and Arthur glanced back once more at the scene that seemed almost magical; The sword in the middle of the clearing, illuminated by a single patch of sunlight that shone through the canopy of the trees, and the people, whispering quietly amongst themselves but remaining still, not moving forward to take on the sword and the challenge it posed themselves. He felt hope bubble low in his stomach. _Maybe he could do this. Maybe he was the true king of Camelot. Maybe he could pull the sword out of the stone._

Then he turned back to Merlin and saw the faith and trust in his eyes, and his stomach dropped. _But what if he wasn’t the true king? What if he wasn’t worthy? What if he couldn’t pull it out? What if he just ended up disappointing Merlin?_

“Do you want me to look like a fool?” He asked Merlin, afraid that Merlin had dragged him here simply to test him, to test whether or not he was worthy. 

“ _No_ , I’m going to make you see that Tristan is _wrong_ ,” Merlin’s eyebrows took on that furrow that they usually adapted when he was frustrated with Arthur. “There’s no reason for you to doubt yourself. Tristan is _wrong_ . You aren’t just anyone. You’re _special_.” Merlin paused for a split second then reached out with a hand to gently squeeze at Arthur’s own, offering comfort and strength. Arthur gladly accepted his lover’s grip, latching onto the tether that it offered as his own stomach knotted with doubt and fear.

“You and you alone can draw out that sword,” Merlin whispered to him, his voice providing a solidity to Arthur’s mind, which felt like it was tearing itself apart with doubt.

Arthur looked into his lover’s eyes, feeding on the stability and faith that Merlin was offering, afraid, as he had been for the past few days, that he just _wasn’t worth it_ . _What if Tristan was right? What if he didn’t deserve Merlin? What did Merlin even see in him? What even made Arthur special?_

But Arthur knew that he couldn’t turn tail and run no matter how much he desperately wanted to. He couldn’t let down Merlin like that. He would inevitably let the boy down one way or another, but Arthur would prolong it for as long as he damn well could. He would at least try, he would at least _try_ to make Merlin proud.

He sighed and gently shook his hand out of Merlin’s now loose grip and pulled his sword out of its scabbard and wedged it into the loose dirt beneath his feet. He turned to Merlin one more time, and his lover offered him that sweet, encouraging smile that stopped the sarcastic words that Arthur had been about to say right in his throat. He smiled weakly back, knowing it probably looked more like a grimace, and turned to the sword lodged in the stone warily.

He could feel Merlin’s eyes burning into the back of his head as his legs carried his forward, bringing him to a stop right before the rock.

He hesitated, then, with a deep breath, reached out with both hands and tried to pull the sword out of the stone, knowing that he would not be able to do so, and, unsurprisingly, the sword did not budge. 

Arthur tightened his grip on the golden hilt of the sword and pulled harder, trying to dislodge it from the rock, but it wouldn’t budge.

 _Gods, Tristan was right, he was embarrassing himself in front of his people, in front of_ **_Merlin_ ** _._

The thought of the disappointment that he thought he would see on Merlin’s face made him try harder despite internally knowing that the sword would not budge. His arms trembled with the effort, but the sword remained stuck. He felt panic and self hatred bubble up, and he could feel his face heating up with humiliation and doubt. 

Then suddenly, through the haze that had surrounded Arthur’s mind and the buzz that had filled his ears, Arthur heard Merlin.

“You have to believe, Arthur,” his lover’s quiet voice was not filled with disgust as Arthur had expected it to be, but rather with that same steady faith.

Arthur let out a few shaky breaths, feeling the momentary calm that had prodded at him become lost in the cacophony of doubt and fear and panic and hatred and--

“Arthur…” Merlin’s voice cut through the blizzard once more. As always, it provided him with strength, and with courage.

“You are destined to become Albion’s greatest king,” his lover continued, and overwhelmed and filled with doubt, Arthur let go of the sword’s hilt and took a step back, breathing shakily.

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Merlin believed in him. Merlin saw something special in him. Merlin loved him. There had to be a reason for that._ He remembered all the times that Merlin had risked his life for him despite Arthur treating him like dirt day after day. He remembered how Merlin constantly threw himself in danger’s way simply to protect his king. He remembered how Guinevere had once pledged her undying love to him. He remembered how each of the Knights of the Round Table had stood and vowed to follow him into battle. He remembered how even Uther’s knights had followed him into suicide missions. He remembered how many people had laid down their lives for him without a second thought. He remembered how many people had loved him, had looked at him with pride in their eyes, had admired him in some point of time. If people as exceptional as his knights, as Guinevere, as _Merlin_ found something admirable in him, maybe there was actually something there.

He had to make their faith in him worthwhile. He had to thank them for sticking by his side at all times. He had to show them that he could amount to their pride, that he was _worth_ their pride. 

He heard Merlin’s words in his mind once more, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, chasing away the doubts and fears and insecurities in his mind. He remembered the open faith that Merlin had in him. _He could do this. If he was worthy of Merlin’s love, then he was worthy of anything this world could offer because Merlin was the greatest treasure upon it, and nothing else in this world could never compare to his lover’s value._

He grasped the sword hilt with one hand this time, his dominant hand, his sword hand, and closed his eyes. _I believe in myself. I can be worthy. I am worthy. A simple throne was nothing more than a useless stone in the face of the beauty of a thousand diamonds that Merlin represented. I can prove with this sword not only that I am worthy of the throne, but also that I am worthy of Merlin’s faith, his pride, his love._

He tightened his grip and pulled firmly upwards, and faced no resistance. The sword slid easily out of the stone, and Arthur pulled it free. He held it up towards the sky, a sign of his worthiness that the knights and the people gathered could all see. He heard cheers go up as Leon began the chant:

_“Long live the King! Long live the King!”_

He turned his back on his people and turned instead to face Merlin, still holding the sword up. His lover had that wide, happy, _beautiful_ grin on his face that made Arthur forget about the sword in his hand. He stuck it carelessly into the dirt and used his newly freed hands to pull Merlin into an intimate embrace instead. Merlin stiffened in his arms, wide eyes glancing past him to the large crowd gathered.

The crowd had grown so quiet the sound of a pin dropping could have been heard. The people seemed to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Merlin glanced back at Arthur, at his strong, powerful, _gorgeous_ king, and remembered the man’s reaction when Gwaine had interrupted them the night they first kissed. His body relaxed in Arthur’s arms, and he wrapped his own arms around his king’s neck, rising up onto the tips of his toes so that his mouth was aligned with the blonde’s ear. 

“ _Long live the king_ ,” he whispered into Arthur’s ear, pulling back just enough to see the look in his king’s eyes. _Gratitude, happiness, love--_

“ _Mmph-!_ ” he was cut abruptly out of his analysis when Arthur passionately pressed their lips together in a deep kiss. He responded in kind, arching his back to press his body closer to Arthur’s and tilting his head to the side so that the angle was more natural.

The people let out a deafening cheer, the knights pumping their fists and cheering them on while the commoners whooped out their joy and glee at finally seeing their king with the one person who had been by his side all along. Even Guinevere was laughing and cheering as the two men, wrapped up in each other’s arms, continued to kiss as if the world around them didn’t exist.

When they finally pulled apart from each other, breathing hard, faces flushed, they both wore wide grins on their faces, and their hands stayed enclasped in one another’s even as they turned to accept thumps on the back from the knights and praise and congratulations from the people. 

 _I am worthy_ , Arthur realized, looking at Merlin’s wide grin and feeling the tingling of his own lips, the hand clasped tightly in his own. 

_I am worthy of you_

… 

“ _I’m not staying here, Arthur!_ ” 

“ _You’re not coming with us and that’s final, Merlin!_ ”

“ _I’m coming with you whether you like it or not!”_

 _“You’ve just been impaled!_ ** _Twice!_** _You’ve been impaled_ ** _twice_** _! You are not coming with us, I won’t watch you get hurt again!”_

_“And you think that I can just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you’re off dying for all I know?!”_

_“Merlin--”_

_“_ **_No!_ ** _No! I won’t stay here. There is nothing in this world that can keep me here, Arthur, when my place is by your side! I won’t just stand by and do nothing while you run the risk of getting hurt._ **_You can’t make me!_ ** _”_

A surprisingly hard shove moved Arthur back a few paces from where he had been standing directly in front of Merlin with his lover looking up at him with eyes blazing with anger. The blonde let out a frustrated sigh and ran an aggravated hand through his already stress-tousled hair. He had known going into this argument that Merlin would never agree with him--if the boy did, he just simply wouldn’t have been _Merlin_ . That didn’t mean that Arthur wouldn’t be frustrated and fed up with his manservant’s attitude, though. _Why wouldn’t the boy just sit down and make it easy for Arthur to protect him for once?! Why was he intent on constantly throwing himself into conflict just to be at Arthur’s side?! Gods_ , it made Arthur so _frustrated_.

 Despite everything, the familiar sight of his manservant standing with his shoulders squared and head held high with his soft, pink lips set in an angry snarl and eyes sparking with indignance made one side of Arthur’s lips quirk up in a small, suppressed smile. He was _stunning_ like this--angry and worked up, _hot and bothered_. Arthur found his mind wandering but quickly snapped back to the present when he felt another shove push him back another step.

“You’re not even _listening_ to me, are you, you arrogant arse?! You don’t even care what I have to say!” Merlin had taken the few steps needed to bring him back in close proximity to the king in the time Arthur had spaced out, only to shove him back once more. 

Arthur grabbed the boy’s wrists when he came up to shove him one more time, keeping his grip light and as _not_ constricting as possible, not wanting to injure his lover as he had days prior, and he knew Merlin had noticed the effort when the boy suddenly deflated with an exasperated but fond roll of his eyes. 

Despite the fact that Merlin could easily get out of Arthur’s loose grip, he stayed put, not yanking his slender wrists from Arthur’s calloused hands. His dark blue eyes stared beseechingly into Arthur’s looking for the answer that he wanted. Arthur averted his gaze and looked down at the ground instead, knowing that he wouldn’t have the courage to say what he wanted to say if he looked into Merlin’s eyes.

“I won’t watch you get hurt again. I _can’t_ watch you get hurt again. Merlin, _please_ … I was so _afraid_ when I found you in that cell. You looked _dead_ . I’ve never been that afraid in my _life_ ,” Arthur could feel that Merlin’s stance had relaxed considerably at the admission, but he knew that if he looked into Merlin’s eyes that he would still see the same resolute stubbornness that had been in them for the past hour hey had been arguing about this.

Merlin shook off Arthur’s grip on his wrists only to step into him further and place one hand on the king’s chest, right over his beating heart, and to use the other to gently tilt Arthur’s head upwards until sky-blue eyes were locked onto darker blue ones.

“Arthur,” the king’s name coming from his lover’s lips sounded so sweet, so filled with _something_ that it made him feel weak at the knees. 

His boy’s lips were turned up in a fond, but exasperated smile, and he found that the look made him feel like a chastised child. He felt his cheeks flushing with embarrassment and shame without knowing why; he wondered why he felt as if he were a child that had just been scolded.

“ _You_ need to understand _me_ , Arthur. You want me to stay here where it’s safe because you can’t stand to see me hurt, I want to stay by your side for the same reason… You think that I can just _let you go_ ? I can’t stand to see _you_ hurt, Arthur. It would _kill me_ to stay here while you go gallivanting off to reclaim your throne, not knowing whether or not you were alive or dead…I don’t want fame. I don’t want glory. I just want to be by your side. I _need_ to be by your side, Arthur.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue once more, but Merlin wasn’t finished yet.

“The man that you fell in love with stood by your side through everything, you said it yourself that night,” his lover said quietly. “You can’t claim that you love me for staying with you then insist that I stay behind in the next sentence, Arthur. That’s not how _this_ works.”

Arthur felt shame washing over him as he realized that Merlin was right, that he couldn’t keep his lover from doing this with him and claim that he loved that selfless aspect of him.

“ _Please, Arthur._ I know I can’t keep you here. I don’t have the power nor the will to, but you can’t expect me to stay back here when you yourself won’t. I _have_ to be by your side! _Please, Arthur…”_

Arthur raised one of his hands to cup the back of Merlin’s neck and brought him into a chaste kiss, surprising Merlin, who stumbled forward, blushing furiously as their lips met in probably their sweetest kiss yet. When they separated, Arthur kept his forehead pressed to Merlin’s, hand still cupping the back of Merin’s neck, and his other hand situated itself at his boy’s waist. Merlin’s hands were both flat on his chest, and he allowed Arthur to pull their foreheads together, enjoying the closeness as much as his king was.

“You’ll stay close to me,” Arthur said, and even with his eyes closed he could _feel_ Merlin’s face breaking out into that _gorgeous_ smile. “You won’t go off on your own and _you’ll stay close to me_ , where I can protect you if needed.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Arthur. Whatever you want,” Merlin felt relief wash over him as his lover finally gave in. Suddenly overcome with giddy joy prompted by relief, he tackled Arthur in a tight embrace, throwing his arms around his king’s neck and burrowing into the crook of his neck with a happy sigh. 

Startled, but just as happy for the contact as Merlin was, Arthur wrapped his own arms around Merlin’s slim waist and buried his nose in his lover’s dark hair, inhaling and exhaling softly into it.

“ _Encore, encore!!_ ” Gwaine’s loud voice cut through the temporary silence, and both servant and master looked over at the rugged knight, Arthur with exasperation, and Merlin with a small laugh. 

The long-haired knight feigned wiping tears away from his face, fake sobbing loudly into Percival’s (who happened to be the unfortunate soul next to him) shoulder while blubbering about the beauty of it all. 

“Brought me to tears! So beautiful!” he declared, clutching at his heart with one hand while the other mopped exaggeratedly at his face. Percival let out a disgusted noise when the man blew his nose loudly into his tunic, and pushed the rugged knight away.

Merlin let out a louder laugh at this, as did the other people surrounding them, whom they had forgotten existed during their argument. Even Arthur couldn’t help an exasperated smile that only got wider when he felt Merlin press into his side with a content sound. 

“Let’s revise the plan one more time,” Arthur said after a few more moments, not wanting to break the high spirits of the people but knowing that it had to be done.

Everyone sobered immediately at that, even Gwaine, who stopped mid sentence in his tirade and nodded with a now solemn look on his face. 

Merlin sighed softly into his neck and Arthur murmured an apology to him, pressing an apologetic kiss to the boy’s hair. Merlin straightened and leaned in to peck Arthur’s lips one more time before making to move away. Arthur, however, kept his arm tightly wrapped around Merlin’s slender waist, keeping him from doing just that. Merlin gave him a fond smile and allowed the closeness. His servant wrestled with the hand that belonged to the arm wrapped around his waist until he could entwine his fingers with his king’s. Arthur gave their newly connected hands a small squeeze, feeling a small smile grow on his face when Merlin returned the minute pressure. 

… 

They stayed in the forest that night, surrounded by the people and the knights. The tension was palpable in the air, and the sound of shifting bodies and frustrated sighs could easily be heard as many tossed and turned, unable to find sleep in the face of what lay ahead. 

Arthur laid awake, listening as the sounds finally quieted as the restless people went to sleep. He curled closer to Merlin, who was wrapped in his arms and sleeping soundly, buried in Arthur cape, which had been draped upon him and tucked close when Arthur noticed him shivering from the cold. He could feel Merlin’s deep inhales and exhales, and they had nearly lulled him into his own slumber, but he stubbornly stayed awake until he could discern that all of his people had fallen asleep around him--that none of them lay awake in fear of what was to come the next morning. 

Upon hearing no sign of rustling or restless sighs as far as he could hear, he finally let his eyes droop, dropping a lazy kiss on Merlin’s forehead and tightening his hold on his boy as his eyes slipped shut. He felt Merlin burrow further into him and mumble his name under his breath in his sleep, and he smiled sleepily as his consciousness drifted. 

Suddenly, Merlin shifted in his arms, and, with a small noise, began to wrestle with Arthur to get out of the tangle of his arms. Arthur’s eyes drifted back open and he let out a warning growl and tightened his grip, chasing the seductive pull of the unconsciousness that had enveloped him moments before. 

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin whispered, surprised. “ _You’re awake_ ?” his lover sounded panicked for some reason, but, as much as Arthur wanted to soothe that panic away, he also wanted to _sleep, dammit!_

“ _Not awake,_ ” Arthur grumbled back, trying to get Merlin to settle by tightening his arms around his lover when the boy tried to escape his hold once more. 

“ _Arthur, let go!_ ” the whisper was more urgent this time, and Merlin tried to pry his king’s hand off his waist. 

“ _Why? Where are you going?”_ filled with sudden panic himself, he made to sit up, only to be stopped by Merlin’s hand on his chest, pushing him back down with a gentle _shhhhhh_ that made Arthur’s newfound panic slip away until it was nothing more than a distant memory in the back of his mind. 

“ _I… I have to piss_ ,” Merlin whispered back, gently tugging at the arms around his waist. “ _Badly_.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose and released Merlin, letting out another grumble as Merlin laughed softly and pecked him on the nose before getting to his feet. Arthur wrapped a hand around Merlin’s ankle before he could take a step away, opening one bleary, sleepy, blue eye to look up at Merlin and smile at him. Watching Merlin’s face melt as the man smiled dopily back at him made Arthur wonder if his own face softened in the same way when Merlin so much as looked his way with a smile on his face. 

“ _Be careful. Hurry back_ ,” he whispered quietly, “ _Don’t get into any trouble_.”

Merlin gave him a cheeky grin.

“ _Me?_ ” and he was off, weaving carefully through the throngs of sleeping people before disappearing into the trees. 

Arthur kept his eyes open for as long as he could, but they eventually drooped closed as he drifted in and out of awareness in short bursts in which he was unsure of the amount of time that had passed. 

He jerked into alertness when he felt someone climbing into the small area he had claimed for himself, and he flailed as his mind struggled to make sense of his surroundings, muddled with sleep as it was.

 _“Hey, hey, shhhhhhhhh… it’s just me, it’s just me_ ,” a soothing voice whispered back to him, and Arthur managed to pry his eyes open long enough to see the face of his lover close to his own, cooing reassurances that made Arthur’s momentary panic fade once more. 

He opened his arms and Merlin curled close to him once more with a content sigh, tucking his head into the crook of Arthur’s neck. Arthur rested his chin against Merlin’s hair, wondering for a split second why it was so mussed up and windswept before sleepily deciding that Merlin’s hair had a life of its own and shouldn’t be questioned.

As he pulled Merlin close to him once more, he felt his lover’s heart beating wildly against his chest, and his brow furrowed. He spared another moment for the split second thought of ‘ _why was it beating so fast, as if Merlin had been running some distance_?’ before his sleep-addled brain decided that the thought was too complicated to look into at the moment and abandoned him completely.

Curious, but no longer concerned, Arthur pressed a last kiss to Merlin’s hair and finally, _finally_ dropped off into a deep sleep, his lover tucked safely and securely against him. 

… 

The party walking towards the castle was utterly silent, but underneath the silence lay a layer of tension cushioned by another of fear and apprehension. Arthur led the party--all of them on foot seeing as there were no horses--and Merlin walked at his side, the constant companion he’d always been. Their hands brushed together with every step that they took, and the small contact made Arthur’s own nerves settle.

Gwaine walked a pace behind Merlin, and next to him walked the other knights of the Round Table. Usually during missions as important as this one, they would be quietly whispering amongst themselves and reviewing the plan, but this time, they walked silently, their steps matching each other’s and echoing those of their king. 

The new sword, _Excalibur_ , Merlin had said proudly, rested in Arthur’s scabbard and he kept his other hand on its hilt, drawing as much confidence from it as he was from Merlin. He thought back to the wild story that Merlin had woven out of thin air, a story that Arthur himself had never heard before, but had listened to avidly as Merlin gestured with his arms and made his voice drop and rise with the waves of the tale. 

Arthur had wanted to humor him, but he had been struck dumb when they came upon that clearing with the very sword that Merlin had been talking about deeply embedded into the stone, unmoving, unliving, but celestial-looking. He still didn’t quite buy the story that Merlin had sold, but how else could he explain the way the sword had remained wedged when Arthur had tried to pull it out without believing in himself, only budging and sliding through the stone when he took a step back and reevaluated himself and his worth?

How could the sword have realized that he had come to terms with himself when he reached for ir the second time? How could it have realized that he had found the drive that he needed to pull himself out of his slump? How could it have easily told the difference between his doubt and his determination, when it was nothing but an unmoving, unliving sword that happened to be wedged in a piece of rock? He hadn’t had to muscle the sword out of the stone, either. It had almost been as if he were pulling the sword up and out of water when it had finally come free, and it had taken little to no effort to pull it out of the rock that he had been futilely wrestling with only seconds earlier. _It made no sense._

Only Merlin had ever been able to see the difference between the confident facade that Arhur put up when he was afraid, anxious, and the actual confidence that he usually swaggered with. Arthur’s thoughts suddenly paused here. That was another thing; How did Merlin know where the sword was going to be? How did he come upon it? He said that he had stumbled upon it when he had gone to relieve himself the previous night when Arthur had asked earlier, and the king had bought his lover’s story. But now he was finding holes.

Why hadn’t Merlin met his eyes when he explained how he came upon the sword? Why didn’t he rouse Arthur instantly when he came back? Why had no one else come upon the sword before? The forest was relatively near Camelot, and Arthur and plenty of his knight had hunted in it frequently in the past, why hadn’t they ever come across it before? Why had Arthur never heard this tale before? 

Merlin’s haphazardly put together story and his casual response when Arthur asked him if he had made the tale up, albeit told with that same fond smile on his face -- _why would I do that? your head’s already as big as your waist_ \-- had been enough explanation at the time, but now that Arthur was actually thinking about it, he could feel doubt rising once more, not in himself, but rather in his lover.

Something wasn’t adding up. The whole tale of the ‘sword in the stone’ couldn’t possibly be real. The sword itself, as much as Arthur was drawing comfort from it, didn’t make sense. Merlin’s nonchalant excuses and explanations for each question that Arthur asked him directly was ringing all sorts of bells inside of Arthur’s head, and the way Merlin wouldn’t quite look into his eyes when Arthur had jokingly asked if Merlin had run all the way to Camelot and back in order to relive himself made Arthur uneasy. The way that, even now, Merlin seemed apprehensive and filled with tension, and wouldn’t meet his eyes head on made him feel apprehensive himself without knowing why.

Arthur did know one thing, however, and that was that Merlin was lying to him.

Thoughts crept, unbidden, into his mind. Thoughts of Lancelot returning form the dead and reminders of his own joy at seeing his friend alive and well. Thoughts of Guinevere not meeting his eyes after she had come back from going to see Lancelot herself. Thoughts of her wrapped up in Lancelot’s arms, her lips latched onto his. Thoughts of her kissing the knight passionately as if he was her lifeline while Arthur was falling to pieces at watching his own abandon him completely. Thoughts of pain and deceit and lies. 

His hand tightened into a fist, and on their next step forward, he put purposefully moved his arm so that the back of his hand didn’t brush up against Merlin’s. It was small, but he knew that Merlin had noticed it nonetheless, and he could feel the man’s curious gaze burning into the side of his face. He resolutely kept his gaze forward and kept walking. Merlin seemed to take it as un unknowing move on Arthur’s part, and he shrugged to himself, writing it off as nothing more than Arthur being lost in thought. 

Merlin, suddenly craving the small contact that he hadn’t realized had been providing him comfort, reached out for Arthur’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Arthur pulled his hand out of the grip without looking at him, and Merlin knew now that something was wrong. _Had he done something wrong?_ Arthur was still not turning to look at him, and Merlin suddenly felt a wave of illogical fear wash through him. _What had he done wrong? Why was Arthur mad at him? Had he changed his mind? Was he in fact ashamed to be with his servant of all people? Had he found out Merlin’s secret? Did he hate Merlin?_

When Merlin didn’t reach out for him again as he usually would in any other circumstance, Arthur chanced a glance at his servant and found that the boy had curled his hands into tight fists in which Arthur was sure his fingernails were digging into his palms. He was looking at the ground with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Arthur immediately assumed it was anger, but then realized that the boy’s shoulders were hunched in on himself, as they had been on the night when they had first kissed, as they had been when he had been so sure of his own worthlessness. His eyes weren’t filled with anger, but rather with confusion and hurt. His hands weren’t clenched into fists because he was angry with Arthur, but rather because he was angry with himself.

Because as much as Merlin had become adept at reading Arthur, Arthur had also become adept at reading him. 

Merlin was hurt. He was confused.

And despite Arthur wanting to ease his lover’s pain, he also wanted to keep himself from feeling pain of his own when Merlin inevitably hurt him the same way everyone else in his past had.

Despite Merlin wanting nothing more than to reach out to his lover and to hold onto him, he also wanted to live.

Because as much as both Merlin and Arthur had thought that they had shaken Agravaine’s effect on them, the trust between them was still struggling.

Because as much as they believed that they trusted each other, they were both still afraid.

Arthur of being hurt once more

Merlin of Arthur finding out the one secret that would cost him his life.

Arthur of Merlin lying to him.

Merlin of Arthur hating him.

It was their own lies, their own fears that would lead to them crumbling.

They were falling apart,

But they had no one to blame but themselves.

The party walking towards the castle was utterly silent, but underneath the silence lay a layer of tension cushioned by another of fear and apprehension. Arthur led the party--all of them on foot seeing as there were no horses--and Merlin walked at his side, the constant companion he’d always been. ~~Their hands brushed together with every step that they took, and the small contact made Arthur’s own nerves settle.~~ But there was a distance between them that couldn’t be breached, both of them too afraid of the other to close that final gap.

… 

They had entered the castle without a hitch. The group that was supposed to be diverting the attention of the large army that Morgana had acquired was doing its job perfectly. Arthur had anticipated their enemy’s moves perfectly. He knew the tactics of battle, he knew which fronts were weak, which were strong. He knew which armies were beatable, and he knew both Morgana and Agravaine well enough to know that this army was defeatable.

He hadn’t realized that while he knew the minds of both Morgana and Agravaine, they had both been at his side long enough to know his, too. 

“My lady, are you sure--”

“I am. I know him, Helios. I know the way he thinks, the way he plans: He cannot hide from me,” Morgana’s voice was as strong as it had always been, would always be, but it was shaky. As if she were afraid. As if she knew that she was set up to lose. 

The footsteps of his half-sister, the man accompanying her ( _Helios?_ ), and the group of mercenaries were getting louder.

Suddenly, they stopped.

“Why did you stop them, Helios, we need to keep moving!” Morgana sounded panicked, and Arthur, despite himself, felt a brief pang of pity for her. 

_What happened to you, Morgana? You were so kind, so compassionate…_

He turned to Merlin, who he knew would understand his irrational pain, would understand why he suddenly longed to be in simpler times. He found Merlin already looking back at him, eyes filled with a pain similar to his own, and Arthur knew instantly that his lover had been having thoughts similar to his own. But in addition to the pain, he saw… _regret?_ What did his lover have to regret? 

“My queen, you are still… shaken, from last night’s events,” Helios said, his deep voice pitched lower so as to be soothing.

“It was _him_ , he was _here_! It was _Emrys. I know it was_!” If Morgana’s voice had been panicked before, now it was borderline hysteric.

Merlin stiffened next to him.

“I don’t know how he got in or why he came in the first place, but he was _here! I saw him, I know I did_!”

Arthur was suddenly reminded of his thoughts from earlier.

_“Really, Merlin, what did you do, run to Camelot and back?”_

He remembered Merlin’s tense smile and how he hadn’t responded other than to look away and let out a little, awkward laugh.

He turned to look at Merlin, and he knew that, this time, Merlin was avoiding his gaze purposefully, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him as if the stone was the most interesting thing he had seen in his entire life.

Arthur’s heart plummeted, and with a careful swallow past the large lump in his throat, he turned back to the conversation.

“My lady, we will catch him, if he is here. Both him and that incompetant king that he protects,”

Merlin looked up suddenly and sent a glare into the hallway, and Arthur realized that he had been offended by this man calling him incompetant, and he felt his unease settle slightly. 

“Go back to the throne room, Morgana. You will be safe there. We will continue the hunt here, and we will only return to you when we have Arthur’s head on a platter to present to you.”

Merlin’s features twisted into a snarl, and he pressed closer to Arthur, groping blindly for the king’s hand, which Arthur didn’t pull from him this time. Merlin twined their fingers together and turned to Arthur, meeting his gaze head on. Arthur felt a sudden, unwarranted guilt, and he gently squeezed Merlin’s fingers. 

Maybe Merlin _had_ been lying to him, but he had only done it to help. How could this man, who flew into a rage at even the mere _mention_ of his king being hurt, _possibly_ have some interior plot to hurt Arthur? Arthur squeezed Merlin’s fingers tightly in his own, trying to express his gratitude, and he knew that Merlin had understood when the man gave him that soft smile that Arthur loved.

“But--”

“But nothing, Morgana. You’ve barely slept, you haven’t eaten. You look like death warmed up itself. Let us help you,” the man, Helios, lowered his voice here. “Let _me_ help you, Morgana.”

Arthur pulled a face as he realized that this man was trying to come onto his sister, and despite everything, he felt the need to pull Morgana away from him, to tell her that this man was no good, that she could find someone far better than him to love her… but times had changed. That was no longer their relationship. She was no longer his concern.

He looked over at Merlin and saw that his lover had a similar, hardset expression on his face, and he knew that his feelings were understood. 

“I… Alright… Alright,” Morgana’s voice was barely a whisper, and it seemed to be filled with a degree of awe, and Arthur realized, with a pang, that it had probably been a long, long time since someone had truly cared and expressed their care for her. His heart ached for her, and it angered him that he felt sympathy for her when she had done things that warranted none. 

They waited with bated breath as Morgana’s footsteps began heading in the opposite direction, back in the direction of the throne room. Another set of footsteps sounded from the corridor that she had just exited out of, and voices conversed quietly, one voice which they knew to be Morgana, and another of which Arthur couldn’t distinguish because of the distance, but he needn’t have worried; The footsteps instead approached Helios’ group and the voice that belonged to them rang out in the hallway. 

“I will accompany you to find Arthur,” a familiar, silky voice spoke to Helios and his men.

_Agravaine_

Arthur’s own expression morphed into a scowl and he heard both Gwaine and Percival let out low growls. Even Leon had let out a small snarl at the voice of the traitor who had hurt one of their own. 

“I did not realize that you were so eager to please her lady Morgana,” Helios responded, a certain dislike expressed in both the words and the tone with which he said them.

Arthur suppressed a snort; Seemed like no matter where he went, his uncle managed to wrack up dislike and annoyance.

“If you must know, it is not Arthur himself I want to find, but rather someone that is known to stay close to him. He has given me… trouble in the past.”

The whole group tensed, and Arthur, who was still holding onto Merlin’s hand, tightened his grip. 

“One of his knights?”

“No, a servant,” Agravaine responded grudgingly.

Helios burst into laughter.

“A mere _servant_ has you this agitated? Tell me, was he the reason that Morgana was so angry with you frequently while you were under Arthur’s service?”

Agravaine’s voice suddenly rose in fury.

“This mere _servant_ ,” he spat the word with venom, “is the reason that Arthur hasn’t died hundreds of times over already! _He_ is the reason we still have no idea of Emrys’ whereabouts. _He_ is the reason that it took so long for Morgana to finally take the throne. I had Arthur under my thumb! But this _servant_ kept getting in my way!” 

Arthur and the knights and Gwen and Tristan and Isolde all turned to Merlin, who kept his own eyes resolutely down, not meeting any of their gazes.

“This mere _servant_ thwarted four different attempts of poisoning Arthur’s food by intercepting the food and testing it himself! This mere _servant_ watches Arthur’s back whenever he is fighting and protects him even though his king gives him no credit! This mere _servant_ cornered Morgana herself when we first made a move on Camelot with the Cup of Life! And he _beat her_ ! This mere _servant_ is the reason Morgause, the great sorceress herself, is _dead_ ! He is also the reason that _Morgana herself_ nearly died. He knew of Morgana’s betrayal _from the start_ , and of mine as well, and he has _thwarted every attempt on Arthur’s life that we have ever made!_ ”

A short period of silence followed Agravaine’s rage-filled outburst. The greasy man panted with the anger which was awakened in him with his words.

Helios seemed stunned into silence.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Arthur’s eyes were fixed on Merlin, whose entire body had stiffened. Merlin was shaking slightly, and Arthur realized that the man had had no intention of Arthur or the others every finding out all of this about him. They all knew very little of Merlin if all of this was true. He suddenly realized that he had doubted the one person who had been protecting him all along, and he found that he owed more to Merlin than he could have ever understood.

“Not a s _ingle a_ ttempt on Arthur’s life has never _once_ gotten past him from the time that he came into his service. Bandits, sorcerors, knife wielding maniacs, creatures out for blood, _dragons, druids--_ **_everything_ ** _he has faced._ **_Everything_ ** _he has stopped._ Arthur would be _incompetant_ as a king if it weren’t for him! Morgana has overlooked him as nothing more than a pesky nuisance time and time again, a clever nuisance, but nothing more small threat in the face of Arthur when in reality _he_ is the very reason that she meets her downfall every time!”

Agravine suddenly let out a high, cold laugh.

“In the end, it was the very person that was he had given so much to protect that ended up being his downfall.”

Arthur flinched, and he felt overwhelming guilt threaten to drown him.

“Arthur himself threw Merlin into the dungeons, saying that he was nothing more than a useless servant when, in reality, this _useless servant_ is the very person that has saved his life _every. single. time!”_

Arthur turned to Merlin suddenly and let go of his hand in favor of wrapping his arms around the boy’s trim waist. Merlin stayed tense in his arms for a split second before sagging into him completely and letting Arthur carry all of his weight.

Arthur buried his head in his lover’s hair and just breathed for a few seconds.

Merlin had wrapped his own arms around Arthur’s neck, and it was on his shoulder that his head was resting.

His voice was soft so that it wouldn’t attract the attention of the mercenaries, who still had no idea that they were there in the first place.

“I do it for you. _It’s all for you, Arthur_ ,” he whispered softly in Arthur’s neck, so softly that Arthur himself barely heard it.

The words made him want to weep, but, for some reason, Arthur felt that Merlin wasn’t referencing just this with them. He was talking about something else, too.

He pulled back and looked down at Merlin, who had pulled back enough to look into his eyes. He saw his lover mouth the words, seemingly not realizing that they had come out of his mouth in the first place.

“ _I use it for you_ , _Arthur,”_

 _Use what for me?_ Arthur wanted to ask, but before he could, Agravaine’s voice sounded again.

“I nearly killed him then, just before Morgana stormed the castle. I thought _for sure_ that I had killed him! I drove my best dagger into his body twice and left it there, and I left him bleeding out on the dungeon floor, too weak to even stand up,” he laughed once more.

“And you know what’s even worse? The fact that, when I came into the dungeon to mock him, to say that Arthur had finally abandoned him, had finally seen him for what he was, had finally cast him aside, he stood and said nothing, he didn’t react at all. He didn’t care that Arthur treats him like _dirt_ half the time. It was only when I began to insult Arthur himself and his abilities as a king that I got a rise out of him.”

Agravaine paused for a few moments, and when he spoke again his voice was soft, calculating.

“He loves Arthur, more than anything in this world--more than even his _own life_ he loves Arthur. I suspect he feels for his king not the way a friend or a brother would, but rather as a _lover_ would. I suspect that Arthur himself feels the same way about him, even if he neither says nor shows it.”

Arthur squeezed Merlin, who was still in his arms, trying to show him that Agravaine’s words were true: That he loved Merlin so much it made him struggle for breath at times even if he didn’t quite show it in the same ways others did.

Agravaine’s voice had risen once more.

“I thought I had killed him. I thought I was leaving him for dead, but when I came back to gloat over his dead body, I found that it was nowhere to be seen. The boy had escaped! I don’t know if he had done it with the knights’ help, or with Arthur’s help, but somehow, he had vanished, and he was clearly still alive. What I do know is that, this attack? He is a part of it. And in the past, whenever he is by Arthur’s side, Arthur has come out victorious.” 

Agravaine had presumably turned on Helios.

“So don’t you _dare_ underestimate him and write him off as nothing more than a mere _servant_ when he is _anything_ but!”

Agravaine let out another loud laugh that made a shudder go through even Arthur’s body.

 _“_ Morgana is running herself _ragged_ out of fear that this _Emrys_ will be her doom. It is _Merlin_ that she should be fearing instead! _I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along!_ ”

Suddenly, complete silence reigned in the hallway.

Merlin had begun to shake in Arthur’s arms, and when the king turned his head from the direction of the two speaking, he found that the man in his arms was _crying_. 

Feeling panic himself over the state of his manservant, he began to run his hands over Merlin’s back and sides, trying to soothe him, but Merlin just closed his eyes and tucked his head against Arthur’s chest, trembling all the more. 

_He was afraid of something. What was he afraid of?_

Arthur knew of this Emrys, and all his knights did as well. He had called a meeting consisting of only the knights of the Round Table, Gaius, Gwen, and Merlin shortly after Gaius’ kidnapping to discuss why the old man’s captors had wanted the identity of this sorceror so badly, and Gaius had explained the prophecy of the Once and Future King and the mighty and powerful Emrys, the greatest sorceror to ever walk the planet, the man who did not only practice magic, but was magic himself, the man who had been protecting Arthur all along, to all of them. 

Arthur had remained neutral and expressionless during the meeting, but he had shared his plans to legalize magic with only those in the room, insisting that it wasn’t fair to discriminate against people who were only practicing and mastering arts that were meant to help, to heal.

He had already been thinking upon the topic of magic for quite some time, and, with the help of Merlin, had come to realize that magic was simply the same as any common weapon, say a sword. The danger of said weapon lay only in the hands of the wielder of said weapon. A sword could be used for both good and bad, to both protect and hurt. In the same manner, magic could also be used to heal and to kill, to protect and to injure. 

Merlin already knew of this Emrys, and he had seemed nonchalant enough when they discussed the topic afterwards, so why was he so afraid now?

Arthur went back over the specific words that Agravaine had said.

_I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

_I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

_I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Suddenly, Arthur understood. 

His grip on the man in his arms slackened, and his arms fell to his sides limply.

_I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Arthur could hear Guinevere let out a small gasp behind him as she came to the same conclusion that he himself had, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the knights that had been standing directly behind him, concerned about Merlin, had taken a few steps back. They didn’t look afraid, only… _shocked_.

There was a loud, ringing noise in Arthur’s ears, and he felt as if his limbs had all turned to jelly.

_I wouldn’t be surprised_

_I wouldn’t be surprised_

_I wouldn’t be surprised_

Merlin was looking up at him with tears in his eyes.

Merlin, sweet, beautiful, loving Merlin. 

_if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Merlin, who had offered him counsel time and time again

_if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Merlin, who had saved his life, who had served him and only him from day one.

_if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Merlin, who had said _i love you_ in the dead of night, who had curled against him, who had listened to his heartbeat in order to fall asleep, who had _slept in his arms_

_if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Merlin, who he loved

_if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Merlin, who loved him

_if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Merlin, who was _Emrys_

_I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Merlin who was Emrys all along_

Gwaine stuttered, “Merlin, _Merlin_ , tell us it isn’t true, tell us-- _tell us--_ ”

But Merlin only had eyes for Arthur, who felt like his world was falling apart around him.

“ _I only ever used it for you, Arthur. It was all for you. Please…_ **_please_ ** _…”_

And tears were falling from Merlin’s blue, blue eyes, and he was _crying._ His lover was _crying._

Elyan let out a sound in the back of his throat and stumbled backwards at Merlin’s words… straight into a small side-table with a vase set up against the wall. The vase clattered to the floor and broke into a million tiny pieces, and Arthur, with a funny sort of belatedness, felt that he could relate to it.

The sound alerted the group of mercenaries in the hallway over, and they all came running, Helios and Agravaine leading the small group. 

Arthur’s party, unprepared as it was and taken by surprise, was not going to win this fight. The knights hurriedly righted their swords as Arthur pushed Merlin behind himself, but it was clear that they were outnumbered, by _at least_ four-to-one. Arthur knew the situation was helpless, and he thought of his people, of his throne, of his castle, of the memories it contained, and he knew that these moments were probably going to be some of his last. He raised his sword and let out a shout-- “ _On me!_ ”. 

He felt his knights gather behind him, but knew as more mercenaries emerged from the hallway behind Agravaine and Helios’ own group, that they were done for.

His knights and friends at his back, his people in danger, his… his _lover_ at his side, Arthur tightened his grip on his sword and made to charge, knowing that the people he trusted would follow him, but suddenly, an arm on his shoulder stopped him, and pulled him back slightly. Confused, Arthur turned to shake the hand off, but was stopped by the look on Merlin’s face. The boy wasn’t even looking at him, but rather at the large group of mercenaries that was rushing them. 

He pushed past Arthur and stood in front of the group instead, and, terrified for him despite his betrayal, Arthur reached out to him, wanting to pull him back, but Merlin suddenly raised up both his arms and his eyes flashed a brilliant _gold_ , and the mercenaries, the hundred or so men that had been rushing them, were all thrown back. Some flew into walls, others into the floor, and most collided with one another, but they all landed on the floor, and they all didn’t get up.

Arthur felt a cold rush of fear suddenly run through him, and he retracted the hand that had been reaching out for Merlin as if he had been burnt. Merlin, after making sure that none of the mercenaries were getting back up, slowly turned to face the group. There were tears in his eyes still, and his bottom lip was still trembling, but Arthur didn’t think that he would ever be able to pull Merlin into his arms to protect him again. How could he hold someone that could cause so much destruction, so much pain, and assure him that everything would be alright?

Everything _wasn’t_ alright. And everyone in the group knew it. 

Merlin’s hand was shaking when he reached out for Arthur, and the king, despite himself scrambled backwards, afraid of what Merlin intended to do. He saw his knights raise their swords and point them at Merlin, Gwen doing the same. 

Merlin dropped his hand and his head, but not before they all saw the shattered expression on his face.

Despite Arthur wanting nothing more than to soothe his lover’s… Merlin’s… as much as he wanted to soothe _Merlin’s_ pain, as much as he wanted to order his knights to put their swords down, he was afraid. He was _afraid_.

Merlin’s voice was quiet when he spoke again.

“This isn’t the time to talk about this,” his voice broke and he inhaled sharply and held the breath for a moment before exhaling shakily. “We need to go find Morgana. We need to make sure she doesn’t get away,” he said to the floor, his voice no louder than a whisper, and Merlin could see his arms, his whole body, trembling with fear. Merlin wrapped his arms around himself as if he were trying to protect himself. The idea made Arthur want to laugh hysterically.

“ _Please,”_ the boy whispered quietly, and all of them could see the tears that were falling to the floor from his chin despite his face being turned downwards. “ _Please, I’m not going to-- I’m not going to hurt you. I would never--_ **_never_ ** _\--hurt any of you. I only ever used it for you, for all of you, to protect you… Please, please let’s just keep moving.”_

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of watching Merlin break down into himself, Arthur moved forward. Merlin’s head snapped up, and those blue eyes, those expressive blue eyes that Arthur loved more than anything, snapped upwards with something akin to hope in their depths.

Arthur felt nothing as he walked past Merlin without stopping to address the boy. Arthur didn’t think he would even be able to _look_ at Merlin without feeling some sort of burning anger and betrayal deep inside of him. He didn’t stop as he began to weave through the sea of bodies that lay out before him.

“The _sorcerer_ ,” he called back, his voice catching on the word despite him trying to keep his voice steady and strong, “is right. We need to keep moving.”

He heard footsteps start after him shortly after the words, and he listened carefully to see if anyone would say anything to Merlin. 

No one did.

Merlin watched as they all walked straight past him, none of them even sparing him a glance. Even Gwen wouldn’t meet his eyes as she quickly hurried past him. Gwaine passed him roughly, butting into his shoulder painfully as he went. Percival and Elyan didn’t even look at him, the latter skirting slightly to the side when Merlin turned his desperate gaze on him, as if he were afraid that Merlin would smite him on the spot. Merlin looked away quickly with a barely muffled sob, one of his hands coming up to rub at his shoulder where Gwaine had walked into him. Leon’s gaze was distrustful as he scurried past as well, and he didn’t point his sword at Merlin directly, but didn’t lower it either. Tristan and Isolde were the only ones who glanced at him directly. Both looked sympathetic, but then their gazes drifted past him to the sea of bodies scattered behind Merlin, and they too hurried past him without saying anything. 

He could feel himself hurting, feel his chest aching, could feel feel his form shaking, but he pushed it to the side and quietly followed after the group, looking down pityingly at Agravaine’s corpse with its eyes still open as he went. 

Arthur hadn’t even called him by his name.

Arthur hadn’t even looked at him.

Gwaine had hurt him.

Leon had threatened him.

Gwen had avoided him.

Elyan had fled from him.

They were all afraid of him.

But what made it all the more painful was that their fear of him could never compare to the fear that he himself was feeling, had always felt.

Merlin saw the ocean of corpses that he had created, and he felt sick.

_He hadn’t meant to kill them. He had only meant to protect. And he had protected._

_Arthur didn’t love him._

_Arthur was afraid of him._

_The man that he had done it all for was afraid of him._

_None of them accepted him_

And, stifling a sob as he walked past a body with a face that looked entirely too young, he knew that they were right to do so.

 _He was a_ _sorcerer_

 _He was a monster_  

And so he followed at the foot at the party when he had once held up position to the side of the head of it. He deserved no less than to be left behind. He deserved no less than the pain he was feeling. He was lucky they were letting him live this long in the first place. Uther would have beheaded him right then and there on the spot before he could even open his mouth to beg.

He supposed they were only going to let him live long enough to restrain Morgana and get the castle back into order. Maybe less. He wondered if they would let him visit his mother one last time.

He sighed softly, sadly, as they approached the throne room, all of them shifting awkwardly and uncomfortably as he drew near, so he stopped a good distance away from them, not wanting to scare them.

He abruptly remembered one of the first conversations that he had had with Gaius all those years ago, when he had first arrived in Camelot.

_“I’m not a monster, am I?”_

_“Don’t ever think that, Merlin”_

_But why not, Gaius?_

_Why not?_

_Because it wasn’t true?_

_Or because it was?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed, and again, sorry for the long wait. I know it's been like two months (three?), but I swear to god I'm not forgetting this fic; It's always in the back of my mind. I've just been facing some issues with both my family and myself that I needed to spend some time on. Again, I'm not one to leave things unfinished, so trust me, this fic will be finished. It just might take a while.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _ I’m sorry _ ,” she whispered to him, meaning every syllable of the words, and hoping desperately that he would understand.
> 
> “ _ I am, too _ ,” he whispered right back to her, tears in his own eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, yes, I'm back. I really have no excuse other than that life got in the way. I don't want to distract you from reading this chapter for any longer, and thus, I'll end this insufficient note right here. Hope you enjoy!

When they finally entered the throne room, Morgana was perched in the throne with all the regality of a true queen, but she possessed none of the kindness the position warranted. Maybe at one point, the throne would have suited her well, but not any more. 

She sat with her back straight, her head held level, and her eyes burned with power, but Merlin could see the white-knuckled hands that were gripping the armrests of the throne with an iron grip and the shifty gaze with which she regarded them. Morgana had become a beautiful actress under Uther, and it seemed that the ability was still proving to be useful. 

Her green eyes darted from Arthur, the knights and Gwen to Merlin, who was still lingering a good distance behind. She smirked.

“Trouble in paradise,  _ brother _ ?” she asked Arthur, her voice saccharine sweet. Her smirk widened when Arthur resolutely said nothing and Merlin averted his gaze to the floor.

“Knew it wouldn’t last long, but I hope you had some form of fun while it lasted?” 

Still, Arthur said nothing, and Morgana’s eyebrow quirked in curiosity. Deciding to experiment, she turned her barbed wire tongue to Merlin instead.

“Ran back to Guinevere after he had a little bit of fun with you, it seems?” Merlin still didn’t turn his head to look at her, but his hands clenched into fists, not out of anger, but out of pain. 

Morgana read the gesture correctly, and her eyes gleamed. 

“Seems I’ve hit a sore spot, hmm? Come now, Merlin, you can’t have really thought that what you had would last? He’s a king, you’re nothing but a  _ servant _ .”

She discreetly eyed Arthur and the rest of the party out of the corner of her eyes to gauge their reaction and was pleasantly surprised when none of them made a move to defend the wayward boy as they once would have. Even Merlin himself didn’t say a word to defend himself. Now she was incredibly intrigued. What could it have taken to divide two people who had loved each other more than life itself?

Morgana was many things, but one thing she was not was blind. She had known Arthur since childhood, and had known Gwen for nearly as long. She knew the amount of passion and devotion that Arthur could show to someone that had gained his affection, and what he showed Gwen had never even come close to his full potential. Morgana had only seen that potential come forth when the bumbling servant boy with the large ears and the big, blue eyes tripped into their lives and inserted himself into their everyday routines. 

So when the report had come from Agravaine of Merlin disappearing from the dungeons despite being as good as dead, she hadn’t been surprised; Arthur may have been the one who put Merlin there in the first place, but he would never leave him there to suffer while he escaped to safety.

He loved him too much for that.

She had seen them while Arthur ran away with the boy in his arms. She had seen the fear in his eyes, the desperation, and she had noted the way that her brother hadn’t even reached for his sword once when carrying his bleeding, half-dead servant. 

She had known then what Merlin meant to Arthur, and she was sure that Merlin felt the same way. Arthur had always avidly treated Merlin as something greater than a servant by confiding in him, bantering with him, and poking fun at him. For him to not jump to his servant’s defense when Morgana insulted him meant that something truly terrible had occurred between them. 

The sorceress rose from her throne, ignoring the dull pang from her stomach that signified her hunger and the ever-present throb in her head that signified her fear. She ignored Arthur completely and instead crossed the room to stand in front of Merlin, noting out of the corner of her eye how Arthur’s group tensed as she drew nearer to the servant, but made no move to stop her.  _ Interesting. _

She came to a stop in font of Merlin, who looked up to meet her eyes, and she was surprised to see the tear tracks and red splotches that marked his face.  _ He had been crying _ , she noted absently.  _ And recently, too, it seemed. _

_ Curious _

She raised a hand (Arthur jerked in her peripheral vision as if he had made a move forward but had stopped himself) and gently caressed Merlin’s cheek. Merlin made no move to move away, but didn’t lean into the touch either. He didn’t flinch from her. Even Agravaine, her own uncle, had cringed away from her out of fear of her abilities. Merlin didn’t, though; Merlin had never been afraid of her. Not ever. 

It infuriated her.

In an abrupt movement, she flicked the same hand that was on Merlin’s face to throw the boy across the room and into the wall with magic. 

But Merlin didn’t move.

Frustrated, she did it again.

Nothing.

Panicked, she did it a third time, now backing away from the boy.

Nothing.

Frantically, she turned to Arthur’s party and gestured with both her hands, willing power to flow from her hands as it always had.

Nothing.

Afraid, she screamed for Helios, for Agravaine, for  _ someone _ to come help her. She waited for her guards to come rushing in at her cry. 

But nothing happened. 

Merlin looked at her with calm, unsurprised eyes as her mind whirled.

_ Emrys had done this, Emrys had done this, Emrys had done this _

Arthur’s party, on the other hand, seemed just as surprised as Morgana was. 

They raised their swords that had been held at their sides with more confidence. But they weren’t her main concern.

Infuriated once more, she whirled back around to face Merlin, who was still watching her with that calm, unnerved look on his face. He wasn’t surprised. It was almost as if he had known that she would not be able to attack him.

She recalled in some distant part of her mind that Gaius had always known the identity of Emrys.  _ Perhaps he had shared it with Merlin? Perhaps it was Merlin who had asked Emrys to come in and attack her last night? _

She lunged at Merlin and grabbed him by his shirt front with both hands and shook him violently, insane with fear and paranoia and rage and  _ desperation _ .

“ _ Who is he?! _ ” she screamed at him even as she was wrestled back by Arthur’s knights.

“ _ Tell me. TELL ME!!”  _ she pleaded and begged as she was forced to her knees by the knights and by Arthur himself; Guinevere and the two strangers that she didn’t know standing sentinel with their sword tips pointed at her.

“ _ Why was he here last night? Why does he torment me like this?! _ ” she saw Arthur stiffen out of the corner of her eye at her latest questions and she caught the dart of his eyes to Merlin and then back to her. 

What did it mean, _ what did it mean?! _

“ _ Merlin!”  _ she screamed as cuffs were forced around her wrists. Cuffs that made her feel even weaker than she already felt.

“ _ Who is he?!”  _

She screamed until her throat was raw. She begged until her voice went hoarse.  _ She cried until her face stung _ .

But still she didn’t know who Emrys was.

It was ironic that she was the one who had desired to know Emrys’ identity the most, yet she was the only one in the room who had not been granted the knowledge.

… 

Morgana was unceremoniously thrown into a cell in one of the dungeons. Of this action, she was unsurprised. But when two knights roughly grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and shoved him into the cell next to her, she was beyond perplexed. 

She eyed the boy as he sat, unmoving, where he had been pushed in. When he remained motionless, Morgana grew bored and instead decided to look around her cell, and when she found nothing interesting, she looked around his. She found a dark stain on the cobblestone floor but nothing else. She wondered what had made it.

She had already inspected her cuffs a hundred times over. Covered in ingrained runes, they restricted her magic. It was a strange feeling. She could feel the power bubbling inside of her, but when she went to release it, she felt absolutely nothing. It wasn’t a painful experience, and for that she was glad, but it still felt somewhat strange.

The days passed monotonously.

 

Merlin said nothing to her, he barely even looked at her, and as curious as Morgana was, something told her to keep quiet and leave the boy alone, so, for once in her life, she didn’t exploit the weakness that she could see. She imagined that the servant was feeling terrible enough already without her adding to his torment.

A fortnight had passed.

She could tell from the single barred window that peeked out into the courtyard. Sunlight pooled in through the bars during the day and the crickets chirped loudly during the night, allowing her to determine with ease what time of day it was. 

No one had come down to talk to her, or to Merlin. The latter observation had surprised her beyond reason. Everyone loved Merlin, why were they avoiding him? Why was he here in the first place? What had he done to betray Arthur enough that his own lover with throw him into a cell to rot?

She looked over to Merlin once more and noted the cuffs on his hands. The boy was leaned back against the stone wall, knees pulled up to his chest and arms propped up on top of them. He gazed unseeingly in front of him, and he didn’t move a muscle. He hadn’t for days. Morgana occasionally found herself watching for the telltale rise and fall of his body to indicate his breathing.

She hated the boy with a passion. 

But she was lonely.

There was no one else in the cells but the two of them, and no one had come down to address them yet; She felt like she was going out of her mind.

Bored, she catalogued the cell once again, eyes drifting over to the empty bowl that had been pushed between the bars of her cell, filled with sludge. She had held out for the first two days, but the third day, her hunger had overcome her, and she had forced the disgusting, tasteless matter down her throat. From that day onwards she had grudgingly eaten the food whenever it was provided; After all, what was starving herself going to prove? No one here cared about her. No one would come force her to eat. She was alone.

Her dull, green eyes drifted from her bowl to the measly cot that was shoved into the corner of the cell, the one that was prickly and lumpy, but far more comfortable than the cold, hard floor. 

Unbidden, her eyes drifted to the cell that Merlin was in. His cell didn’t even have a cot. Just the cobblestone floor with its dark stain in the center and the occasional blade of hay littered about. His bowl of sludge was untouched, as it had been everyday previously. At first, Morgana had scoffed, believing that the boy thought that, if he starved himself, Arthur would come and save him. But as the days passed and even she had given in to her hunger, she had realized that Merlin wasn’t eating simply because he had no desire to. His eyes didn’t even drift to the bowl when it was slid through the bars whereas Morgana pounced on the meal the second the guard’s hand was clear. 

She had paced restlessly around her cell the first three days she had been imprisoned, screaming obscenities at the guards, Arthur, and Camelot as a whole. The fourth day, she turned her frustrations to Merlin, screaming and shouting at him instead. She scoffed internally; She would have gotten more of a reaction had she yelled at a brick wall. 

The first day that Merlin had been shoved into the cell, he had sat, motionless, in the same position in which he had fallen into when he had been pushed into the cell. Upon waking up for the second day, she had found him leaning against the stone wall, in the same position that he was currently--he hadn’t moved in the time in between.

Morgana unabashedly turned her gaze to his face, inspecting it closely. He looked…  _ empty _ . As if everything that he had once cared for had been lost to him. Seeing as he was sitting, locked up, in the cell across from her, she assumed that it had been.  _ But why? _ She still hadn’t found out what the boy had done. She had tried to seek answers, but to no avail: Merlin was in a comatose state.

His eyes were glassy, as if filled with unshed tears, yet not one had slipped out. His skin, already a pale pallor, had become almost transparent with how papery it had become. His cheekbones were more defined than ever--from not eating for a fortnight, she expected.

At the thought of food, Morgana’s stomach grumbled loudly, and she let out a loud groan and let her head fall back against the stone with a thud. She was  _ starving _ . The single bowl of sludge that was offered per day was insufficient. She didn’t know  _ how _ Merlin was getting by with absolutely nothing, but she doubted that she was much better off.

Her stomach had another ungodly sound that made her cringe as her insides throbbed with hunger. 

Suddenly, to the right of her, she saw movement. Her neck popped with the force at which her head turned, and her vision went blurry for a split second with the speed with which she had gotten to her feet. Staggering, but managing to remain upright, she carefully eyed Merlin, who had  _ finally  _ moved from his position against the wall to crawl over to his bowl of sludge. Morgana’s lips lifted in a smirk that had no real heat behind it. Seemed like the boy had ended his little pity party at  _ last _ . But the smirk died abruptly on her lips when all the servant did was pick up the bowl and slide over to the wall of bars that he shared with Morgana. 

Merlin slipped the bowl through the bars, hindered only slightly by his restraints, and held it out for her to take. He did all of this without saying a word. 

Morgana stayed where she was, back against the other cell wall, as far from Merlin as she could possibly get. A spike of fear passed through her, despite her mouth watering slightly at the prospect of food. She remembered what had happened the last time she had consumed something that the serving boy had given her.

_ pain, pain, pain _

She let out a mirthless laugh, and Merlin seemed to start at the sound, not expecting it. His blue eyes finally fell upon her face, and despite everything, they were still as intense as they always had been.

Ruffled, but still indignant, she opened her mouth to speak,

“You really expect me to accept anything form you? After what happened the last time I did so? When you  _ poisoned  _ me?”

Her voice was hoarse and didn’t lift and lilt quite the way she wanted it to, but the words had the desired effect anyways. Merlin deflated visibly, and his eyes drifted to the floor. 

They spent a few hours in silence like that, Merlin leaning against their joint wall and Morgana on the opposite wall, facing him. 

“ _ I didn’t know what else to do _ ,” his whisper was even more ragged than hers had been--almost to the point where it sounded painful.

Morgana started from where she had slid down against the wall to sit down against it instead, her weak body not having the strength to support her for long. She opened her mouth to give a scathing response before the words actually set in. She hesitated, suddenly confused. _What did he mean?_ _Why did he have to make the decision to poison her in the first place? What had she done wrong?_

“What do you mean?” she snarled, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Merlin’s eyes, which had been boring unseeingly into her refocused on her face. After a moment of hesitation he spoke, his voice still quiet,

_ “I--I didn’t know what else to do… I needed to protect Arthur. I needed to protect the people, to protect Camelot,”  _

Morgana was stumped; she still didn’t understand.

Merlin could see as much, as his eyebrows furrowed with consideration, too.

“ _ You were the cause _ ,” he elaborated. “ _ The sleeping curse… it needs a--a root of some sort. People usually work best. I… I thought you were the root. I thought you were so devoted to your hatred of Uther that you were willing to see the entire kingdom burn. I… I was wrong.” _

Morgana suddenly felt a hot sense of rage come through her.

“You poisoned me for something I didn’t even  _ do _ !”

“ _ It was prophesized _ ,” Merlin’s voice sounded desperate, as if he was begging. “ _ It was prophesized, that you were going to harm Arthur. I was warned that I needed to kill you to prevent you from doing so _ ,” his eyes shuttered, and he looked away from Morgana, who suddenly wanted the boy to look her in the eye, to see what she had become. 

“So you punished me for an action I had not even yet done? For an action that I may have not at all done?!” Morgana demanded.

When Merlin looked up once more to meet her eyes, Morgana was astonished to see that there were tears in the blue orbs. For once, she found herself speechless. She found herself absent of rage, of anger, even of fear. All she felt was  _ hurt _ . 

“I  _ trusted _ you! I came to you for help! I came to you for guidance! I came to you for  _ everything _ ! I thought you knew me, thought you understood me! How could you even  _ think  _ that I would stand by and do  _ nothing _ ?!” Her voice had started off as a shout, but it had ended as a whisper.

“ _ You were with Morgause! I thought… I thought-- _ ”

“ _ I didn’t know what she was doing! I was angry with Uther then, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill him! I still cared about him! And the people? And Arthur?! You think that I would have harmed them?! _ ” 

“ _ You’ve killed people without batting an eye! _ ”

“ _ Not then! Not then I didn’t! After you poisoned me, I realized what it meant to be a sorceress! I realized what it meant to have magic! It wasn’t a gift like you insisted it was! It wasn’t something special to be treasured! I wasn’t someone that should have been protected! All it made me was a monster! You poisoned me because you were afraid of me! You poisoned me because you were afraid of my magic! _ ”

“ _ That’s not true, Morgana, I-- _ ”

“ _ You  _ **_liar!_ ** _ Why else would you hurt me like that?! I trusted you! I’d known Gwen and Arthur my entire life but I chose to tell  _ **_you_ ** _. I chose to share my fears with  _ **_you_ ** _ , to confide in  _ **_you_ ** _! I thought you were kind, I thought that you would help me! But you were just like everyone else! You were afraid! You were afraid of me! You thought I was a monster! You thought it was better to kill me rather than let me live and figure out my magic! You were afraid of me!  _ **_You were afraid of magic_ ** _! _ ”

“ _ That’s not true! That’s not why I did it! _ ”

“ _ Then why did you do it? Just had the sudden urge pop up out of nowhere, coincidentally days after I told you of my true nature? Just decided that it would be good fun to have a test subject for your newest dose of arsenic?! Why did you do it?  _ **_Why did you do it?!_ ** ”

Morgana was well aware that she was screaming, but she couldn’t help it. Tears fell, unbidden down her face. Tears of rage. Tears of pain. Because despite the years that she had known Arthur and had stood at his side, despite the love she had for Guinevere, who had loved and supported her as her best friend, she had trusted  _ Merlin  _ more. She couldn’t tell Guinevere, she definitely couldn’t tell Arthur, but she  _ could tell Merlin _ . 

Suddenly all her rage left her, and she realized that she had never really had any in the first place. All she had was pain. Pain that she had tried to cover up with layers of anger and fear and hatred--but after each layer had been stripped away, all that was left was pain.

_ “Why did you do it?” _ she whispered into the ringing silence between them.

Merlin suddenly moved forward and pushed his two cuffed hands through the bars of the cell wall so that they were in Morgana’s cell.

After a few moments of hesitation, Morgana, crept forward with trepidation, trying to understand what he was trying to show her.

She looked at his tear-streaked face, a twin to her own with its blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes. There were still tears leaking down his face, but he looked her in the eye without turning away. But that wasn’t what he wanted her to see. 

She let her gaze wander down his face to his neck with his silly red neckerchief, to his torso, clothed in clothes that had once been a comfort to her to see, if only because they signified  _ friend  _ in her mind. She let it finally travel down his outstretched hands until the reached his open hands, held out, palm-up. She still didn’t understand. She looked up into his eyes again, but all he did was gesture towards her with his hands once more. 

His restraints rattled as he made the small movement, and her eyes drifted down to them, realizing that she had glossed over them in her first inspection. She examined them closer, stepping closer to do so. She still didn’t understand.

She reached out, hesitating only slightly before resting her hands on his, using the grip to turn his wrists this way and that, trying to get a better glimpse at them to see what Merlin was trying to get her to see.

She didn’t understand. They were the same as hers. They had the same runes, the same patterns ingrained onto them. There was no difference between them. What point was Merlin trying to make? That they were both prisoners in their cells? She knew that already.

She looked back up to Merlin’s eyes, now even more baffled as to what Merlin was trying to tell her.

Merlin met her gaze evenly, and he opened his mouth to speak, reading her confusion correctly.

“ _ What are they meant to do? _ ” he asked her quietly, gesturing at her cuffs, which were identical to his own.

She glanced down at her own cuffs, thinking.

“They’re meant to restrict my--”

And suddenly,  _ she understood _ . 

She dropped Merlin’s hands and staggered to her feet from where she had crouched down.

She stumbled back against the wall, thinking of how Arhur hadn’t even looked at Merlin, remembering how the knights’ eyes had darted to the boy before darting away, almost as if they were  _ afraid _ . She remembered Gwen confessing to her all that time ago that magic terrified her beyond anything else. She remembered Arthur’s fierce hatred of anything magical. She remembered all the sorcerors that had been executed. She remembered watching Merlin’s face once as one of them burned. She remembered the plain and naked  _ fear  _ on his face.

She had wondered what could possibly divide two people who had loved each other more than life itself. People who loved each other as Arthur and Merlin did.

**_Magic_ **

She slid down the wall as her knees suddenly became too weak to hold her up. 

Merlin was always by Arthur’s side. Merlin had thwarted her numerous attempts at conquering Camelot. Merlin had understood her when she first told him about the power that she possessed and the fear that came with it. Merlin had always, _always_ stood by Arthur. Had _always_ _protected him_. _Protected everyone_.

“ **_Emrys_ ** _ , _ ” 

She whispered the name, but Merlin heard it nonetheless. 

His lips turned up in a sad, sad smile, and his eyes glittered with his tears. 

“ _ I was never afraid of your magic, Morgana _ ,” he whispered to her, his voice catching on the syllables. “ _ It was prophesized that you--you and Mordred--would be Arthur’s bane. _ ” 

His eyes bored into her, imploring. They begged for her to understand.

“ _ I had to protect him. I had to protect Arthur. I couldn’t let him get hurt. I couldn’t let you hurt him.” _

“So you hurt me first,” Morgana’s voice was quiet.

Merlin shut his mouth and nodded silently.

“You hurt me because of what you believed I would do.”

“ _ I was wrong, _ ” Merlin’s hands shook as he reached out to her. “ _ I was wrong. You weren’t capable of the destruction and blood that I thought you were. The only reason you became capable of it, the only reason you became the way you are now-- _ ”

“Is because of you,” Morgana finished, feeling empty despite having finally found the knowledge that she had desired so desperately for years now.

Another tear dribbled down Merlin’s pasty, white cheek.

“ _ I’m sorry, _ ” the whisper surprised her.

“ _ For what? _ ” she whispered back, her body and mind too numb to truly understand the statement.

“ _ For making you into something you weren’t,” _

Morgana felt an itch on her cheek and reached up absentmindedly to scratch at it, only to find that her face was wet.  _ She was crying. Why was she crying? _

She was crying because she finally,  _ finally  _ understood. 

She finally understood why Merlin had been so afraid. Why he had done what he did.

“You love him,” she said quietly. The ‘who’ didn’t need to be said. They both knew well enough who she was talking about.

He let out a broken laugh that sent even more tears cascading down his face.

“More than life itself,” he whispered back, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own.

They sat in silence for another few hours, long enough that the day turned into night, and the sound of crickets chirping filled the quiet dungeons. Merlin was leaning heavily against their joint cell wall with his head hung low and with the occasional sniffle making his body tremble. Morgana leaned back against the opposite wall, her eyes boring unseeingly ahead of her, a replica of what Merlin had been earlier. Neither said a word.

Suddenly, Morgana stood up and cautiously crept forward until she was standing in front of the joint cell wall. She sunk down to her knees and grasped Merlin’s cuffed hands that were still dangling through the bars into her cell. Merlin jerked at the contact, head coming up to stare at her with wide, stricken eyes while his body tensed in preparation of a fight.

But he didn’t pull his hands back; He left them in her grip.

Morgana raised her head to look Merlin in the eye and gently squeezed the hands that she held in her own.

“ _ I forgive you _ ,” she whispered, looking into his eyes that were still red and puffy, and now surprised beyond all measure, too.

But all he did was tentatively squeeze her hands back, and say,

“ _ Thank you _ .”

They sat in silence for a few moments, hands still clasped between them.

Then Merlin pulled one of his hands from Morgana’s grip and used it to grasp the forgotten bowl of sludge that had started the weighted conversation in the first place. He carefully slotted it through the bars once more, and placed it in her lap.

She looked up at him surprised, and tried to hand it back. 

“You’ve eaten nothing since we were first thrown in he--”

“I don’t want it,” Merlin’s voice was final, and his eyes were sad as they met hers once again. “ _ I can’t _ ,” he whispered. 

Morgana, somehow, understood. She squeezed the hand that was still in hers.

“It’s only temporary,” she whispered back to him after a beat of silence. “He’ll come around.”

But Merlin’s smile was sad, and his eyes were sadder.

“Not this time,” he whispered.

And so they sat, clasping hands, as Morgana ate with a shaky hand from Merlin’s bowl on her lap.

… 

“And he pulled it from the stone?”

“Well, of course he did,  _ I put it there _ ,”

Merlin sent her an exasperated look that Morgana responded to with an eyeroll. She felt lighter than she had in years.

They seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement to not talk about weighted subjects and to altogether avoid the reality of the situation, which was probably that they would both be put to death in one of the coming days.

No one, other than the guard who came down to give them their single meal a day, had come down to the dungeons to see them, and while both were disappointed, neither was surprised. Two fortnights had passed form the first day they were thrown in. 

Morgana had managed to coax Merlin into eating a few spoonfuls once every few days, but every time, within the time frame of a few hours, he would retch it all back up. He looked significantly worse--his eyes had dulled, his body had become brittle, his skin pasty, his hair unruly. But even Morgana, though she would never say it out loud, could still see that angelic beauty that had first caught her attention. She tried to coax Merlin into eating more, into drinking a few sips of the water that had become an addition to their meals--probably after the guard had come down one day to find them both passed out on the cobblestone floor from dehydration and dryness--but to no avail: The boy simply had no will to eat. Even his body rejected what little Merlin managed to force down.

“It was a valid question  _ Mer _ lin.”

“No, it really wasn’t, my  _ lady _ .”

Only Merlin could manage to make a formal title sound so much like an insult. Morgana shook her head ruefully, but the small smile on her face ruined the effect she was trying to create.

… 

Morgana let her head fall back against the wall behind her. Her tangled hair tickled her face and she pushed it back behind her. She had long since given up on trying to keep it tidy in the cell. It was just wasted energy.

Her stomach let out a sound at which Merlin raised a judgy eyebrow at.

Morgana felt her face heat.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Merlin sighed dramatically at her.

“Of all the lows I could sink to…” Morgana playfully lamented with an exaggerated groan at their predicament, aiming to get a laugh out of the serving boy. But Merlin’s face abruptly went blank.

“It could be worse,” Merlin said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Unbidden, both of their eyes darted towards the grated cell window and the pyre that was visible beyond it. 

It had been erected midway through the second fortnight (Morgana had been keeping track), and neither Merlin nor Morgana had addressed it, both avidly avoiding the topic altogether. The day of its construction had been spent in tense silence, both determinedly ignoring both the noises outside the window and the way the other person’s body shook. Merlin had turned his back and given Morgana her privacy when, halfway through the day, her self control had frayed and she had dissolved into quiet, hiccuping sobs that made her tremble even harder than she already was. In turn, Morgana had said nothing when Merlin woke up from his slumber that night shaking and screaming and crying, half-finished pleas on his lips and licking, burning flames on his mind. Neither of them had slept well that night.

The morning after, they had sat in weighty silence with heavy lidded eyes and trembling hands. Morgana’s nails were bitten down to the quick and her lips were raw from biting at them in nervous anticipation. Merlin’s skin was ridden with scratches he had given himself in his sleep from tossing and turning with nightmares. 

Then Merlin had started speaking, his voice ragged and hoarse. He spoke of the first time he had met Arthur, the first time he had used magic to save the then-arrogant prince, the first time he had faced evil, and so on. He spoke and spoke and spoke, struggling through laughter in some places and tears in others. Morgana found herself listening and reacting along with him. It had taken their minds off the present, and it had given her the opportunity to understand Merlin as a warlock rather than the bumbling fool she had seen him as. 

“So you weren’t really an idiot. That was just another part of the lie?”

Merlin had smiled at her slyly,

“No… It’s just part of my natural charm.”

He had ended the statement with an exaggerated wink that had made Morgana erupt into peals of laughter with Merlin snickering in his cell beside her. 

It had distracted the both of them, and for that, Morgana was eternally grateful.

… 

Morgana was awoken by shouting in the cell beside her. She made to rise, then froze where she was when she realized it wasn’t Merlin’s voice she was hearing.

_ It was Arthur _

She felt an unexplainable sense of heaviness at the voice, but she shoved it away for later inspection and focused instead on the conversation behind her turned back. She feigned sleep, but her eyes and ears were open and alert. Seeing as her back was to Merlin’s cell, she couldn’t see the two’s mouths moving, but she could guess easily enough who was speaking at what time.

“I trusted you, I  _ loved  _ you!” Arthur

“I was only ever trying to protect you!” Merlin

“What by practicing magic behind my back the entire time?!” Arthur

“I-”

“Was everything a lie?” the shouting had stopped abruptly, and Morgana slowed her breathing to ensure that she caught every word.

“No,  _ no _ , Arthur, I loved you--  _ I love you _ , you  _ know  _ I do--”

“I don’t know a thing about you!” the shouting was back.

“Arthur, you know everything abut me--I’m still the same--”

“ _ You have magic! You’re a sorceror! You’ve lied to me this entire time!” _

“ _ I was born with it! It wasn’t just something I could turn off! Arthur just  _ **_listen_ ** _ to me--” _

“Oh, but it was something you could  _ lie  _ about for your entire life?!”

“ _ I would have died! _ ” Merlin was screaming now, too. Morgana didn’t think she’d ever heard Merlin shout like this before. Arthur clearly hadn’t either, for he was stunned speechless.

“You hated magic! You went ballistic at the very mention of it! You killed those who possessed it and shunned everything that was related to it!”

“I changed!” Not stunned enough, apparently.

“But your father didn’t! Uther would have killed me! He almost did, countless times, just because it was  _ rumoured  _ that I had it!”

“Well, was he wrong to be suspicious?! You were practicing behind his back! Behind all of our backs!”

“He--”

“And don’t use him as an excuse!  _ He’s dead _ . He’s been dead for a long time now, and in that time I’ve asked for your opinion on magic, I’ve made laws based on your words, I did  _ everything  _ you recommended--You had me wrapped around your finger! Why didn’t you tell me then?!”

“I--” Merlin was stuttering now.

“That meeting with the Round Table, in which I asked you about the druids, about Emrys, about what you thought of magic--that was the perfect opportunity--why didn’t you  _ say  _ something?!”

“I couldn’t--”

“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t come clean?! Couldn’t tell the person that was holding you in his arms, that was kissing you, that  _ loved you _ , what you really were?!”

“I WAS AFRAID OF LOSING YOU!”

The shout seemed to truly stump Arthur, who sucked in a breath like he’d been punched.

Morgana wished she could see their faces. She wished she could say something, but she knew it wasn’t her place. Her counsel wasn’t welcome--it hadn’t been for a long time now.

“The first time I walked into Camelot I watched a woman get burned at the pyre for having magic. The next day I met an arrogant prince who threw punches first and thought later. The day after I met a king who killed anything and everything that even  _ whispered  _ about something magical--” Merlin paused her and drew in a shaky breath. 

Morgana suddenly realized that his breathing was shaky, uneven.  _ Was he crying? _ She listened harder to try to figure it out and realized that his breathing wasn’t the only one that was uneven. Arthur’s was, too.  _ Was he crying? _

“ _ But I still stayed! I stayed and I became your manservant. I stayed and I protected you! I pushed you out of the way of that chandelier. I saved you from that old woman! I drank poison for you! I was willing to  _ **_die_ ** _ for you, time and time again!” _

“Then why didn’t you ever  _ tell me _ ?”

“Because I would rather  _ lose my life than lose you! _ ”

“I would have understood if you had told me,”

Merlin scoffed,

“Oh, is  _ this  _ what your understanding looks like?!” Morgana heard the rattling of chains, and she pictured Merlin shaking his bound hands at Arthur. 

“ _ You killed an entire army! _ ” 

There was a moment of tense silence.  _ The calm before the storm, _ Morgana offhandedly remembered Uther saying once. 

The silence stretched on, and then,

“... _ And you haven’t done the same _ ?” the whisper was quiet, but even Morgana felt the need to suck in a breath at the words. 

“...How  _ dare  _ you--” Arthur’s voice was shaking with fury.

“Don’t try to tell me that you’ve never  _ once  _ ended a life--”

“I never  _ murdered  _ anyone!!”

Merlin suddenly let out a high, cold laugh that chilled Morgana down to her bones.

“That child that possessed Elyan, you said you’d killed his entire village simply because you’d gotten wind that they had magic. They didn’t fight back, they didn’t even try to  _ run _ \--but what did you do?”

Arthur said nothing.

“That girl that the witchfinder brought in that escaped--he told you that she turned into a beast at night but that it was a curse--that she couldn’t help it.  _ What did you do? _ ”

“I had to protect--”

“The druid camp that Morgana was found in? I told you-- _ I told you _ \--that she had gone there of her own free will. That she had been curious of their lifestyles. That they  _ meant her no harm _ . But you didn’t listen. You stormed in, sword out, soldiers behind you, and you wrought terror! They meant no harm--they were peaceful!  **_But what did you do?!_ ** ”

Morgana suddenly heard the cell door slam open, and this sound was enough to make her force herself into a sitting position and turn around, mouth open to intervene. The sight that met her eyes made the words stop in her throat.

She had never seen Arthur this angry before.

Merlin scrambled back as Arthur threw open the cell door and stormed into his cell, but Arthur grabbed him by his arm and forced him back in front of him. The king’s eyes were wild, furious, and for a second, Morgana saw Uther instead of Arthur.  _ She was afraid of what Arthur would do. _

But Merlin wasn’t.

The boy let out a scorning laugh.

“What? Can’t listen to the truth?”

Arthur grabbed the boy’s other arm with his other hand and shook him violently.

“Shut up!”

“You call me a murderer--then what are you, some kind of  _ saint?! _ ”

“ _ Shut up! _ ”

“You’re as much of a murderer as I am, Arthur Pendragon.  _ You’re the same man your father was!” _

“ _ I said, SHUT UP!! _ ”

And suddenly, Arthur dropped Merlin’s arms and his hand went instead to his belt, on which Morgana could see the sword that Merlin had given him:  _ Excalibur.  _ He grasped it by its hilt and pulled it out of its scabbard, bringing it up to swing down at an arc.

Merlin knelt at his feet, his head held high, his eyes on Arthur’s face, his hands behind his back. He was making no action to move out of the way of the sword.

_ Arthur was going to kill Merlin. _

_ And Merlin was going to let it happen. _

“ _ STOP!” _

Everything seemed to freeze at her scream. Arthur froze, mid-arc, in his swing, and Merlin’s eyes went wide as if he had just realized what had been about to happen. Neither of them actually turned to look at her, too caught up in looking at each other. 

The roaring crescendo of the argument had manifested in a single note that teetered on the edge of a vast precipice. 

Arthur’s sky-blue eyes dropped from Merlin’s face to instead glance at his sword, which was right up against Merlin’s neck. He seemed hypnotized by the sight.

From her position in her own cell, Morgana could just make out the small droplets of red that trickled from the shallow cut that the sword had made in Merlin’s neck.

Merlin seemed to be as shocked as Arthur was. His tear-streaked face suddenly crumpled, and he fell backwards from on his knees to on his butt at exactly the same time that Arthur dropped his sword with a loud clang and stumbled backwards from it as if it had burnt him. The blonde fell back against the cell wall perpendicular to the joint wall that Merlin and Morgana shared, and he stood against it as if his own two legs couldn’t support his own weight.

The single note had fallen back to safety instead of teetering off of the edge of the cliff.

Morgana opened her mouth to say something, to say  _ anything _ , but the words didn’t come. She let her mouth fall closed, instead, opting to just watch the two in the cell next to her. Her head was spinning. Gods, Arthur had almost  _ killed  _ Merlin. She felt vaguely sick, and she realized her hands were trembling. 

Merlin wasn’t doing much better in the cell next to her. He had curled into himself and was shaking horribly with terrible, gasping sobs that sounded painful. One of his hands was hovering over the cut on his neck--which was still bleeding--as if he was afraid to touch it. As if he was afraid to acknowledge what it meant. 

Arthur was leaning back against the wall, his eyes darting between the cut on Merlin’s neck and his sword that was lying on the cobblestone floor next to Merlin. He had tears running down his own face, and he had his hands fisted in his hair. Morgana realized he was pulling roughly at the strands.

She stood up slowly, careful to not make a sound, but she needn’t have cared--the other two had forgotten she existed. She padded, slowly, carefully, to where Arthur was leaning up against the wall and reached through the bars of the joint wall. She could just barely brush up against Arthur’s elbow.

“Hey,” she whispered when Arthur didn’t turn at the small touch. 

Arthur slowly turned to look at her, and she was vaguely reminded of times in their youth when Arthur would do something bad and come to her with tears in his eyes, wanting comfort. She did what she used to do then, gently coaxing Arthur to come closer until she could somewhat wrap her arms around him. 

She tried to comfort him, shushing him gently as he sobbed just as Merlin was, and he quieted slightly at her ministrations. He suddenly pulled away from her and instead turned back to Merlin, and she let him.

Arthur fell to his knees in front of Merlin and reached out carefully, tentatively. He hesitated before he touched Merlin’s arm, and when he finally did, the touch was gentle, barely-there.

Merlin still jerked at it, raising his head so fast that Morgana was surprised that something didn’t break. His hands came up as if to defend himself, but when he saw that it was Arthur, they stopped midway, as if he was unsure as to whether or not he’d need his guard up. They stared at each other without saying anything for several moments, and Morgana felt nerves build up in her stomach; she didn’t think she’d be able to stop another one of those confrontations if it started up. 

She needn’t have worried--With a strangled sob, Merlin fell forward, into Arthur’s waiting arms, and Arthur pressed the boy firmly into his own body, holding him tight enough to cause bruises on Merlin’s delicate skin. Merlin didn’t complain, probably holding him just as tightly. 

Morgana said nothing, but stepped back from the joint wall, putting some distance between herself and the two to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” she heard, and she knew it was Merlin when the boy looked up and said it one more time. “ _ I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have--It wasn’t my place--I  don’t know what I was--” _

But Arthur shushed him gently, and held him closer.

“ _ I didn’t have the right to--Arthur it’s not true you’re nothing like him--” _

Arthur curled tighter around Merlin at the mention of his father and let out a shaky breath. Morgana watched as his hand came up to rest over the shallow cut that was stull oozing blood. He touched it as if he was afraid of it, and then, when his hand made contact, he jerked it back as if he had been burned, and stared, hypnotized, at the stained tips of his fingers.

Merlin pulled back slightly to see what had drawn Arthur’s attention, and his face twisted into something so tender that it made Morgana feel as if she were intruding on a private moment. She watched as Merlin gently grasped the hand and wiped the blood on Arthur’s fingers on his own brown trousers. He then pulled the now clean hand to his face and pressed a gentle kiss to each of the man’s knuckles, and then to his open palm.

Arthur watched all of this with a guarded look on his face, but his face crumpled when Merlin pressed the kiss to his open palm, and he shook his hand free of Merlin’s grasp and instead reached forward with both hands to cup the boy’s pale face in his hands. 

Merlin shakily reached out to Arthur and gently used the pads of his thumbs to sweep away the wayward tears on the king’s face. 

Arthur gently pulled Merlin forward with the hands on his face until their foreheads were touching. Merlin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, relishing it after going for so long without it. But Arthur’s eyes remained open, and he watched Merlin with an almost desperate look in his eyes, as if he wanted to badly to kiss the boy in his arms, but was forcing himself not to. Merlin didn’t push either, he just kept his own eyes shut and his hands drifted down to rest on Arthur’s shoulders instead.

Arthur moved a fraction of an inch back, Morgana assumed that it was to be able to get a better view of Merlin’s face. She watched as sky-blue eyes traced over pale skin, prominent cheek bones, pale pink lips, and eyes that were still adamantly clenched shut. At first, Morgana wondered why, then she supposed that it was because the boy was afraid of what he would see should he open them.

Arthur tilted the boy’s face up oh-so-slightly, and even Morgana, from where she was as far away from the other cell as she could possibly get, could hear the hitch in Merlin’s breath at the miniscule movement. She watched, unknowingly holding her breath, not wanting to make a single sound that could pull the two away from their little paradise.

Arthur leaned in slightly, his eyes still open, though slightly slitted now. He leaned closer still, until his nose was brushing against Merlin’s and he could probably taste the servant’s shaky breaths on his own lips.

But then he stopped.

His eyes suddenly clenched shut, then opened again, fully.

He moved away from Merlin.

He dropped his hands from the boy’s face.

He stood up, and took a deep breath, looking down at Merlin, who had dropped his head and was instead looking at the floor.

Neither made a sound.

Then, he turned around and walked towards the cell door, pulling it open and pushing it shut with a soft  _ clang  _ behind him. He padlocked it.

He didn’t look into the cell again.

But when he turned to leave, his eyes fell upon Morgana, standing silently in her own cell. 

Their eyes met, and Morgana was suddenly filled with an immense sense of guilt that made her want to avoid his eyes, but she didn’t shift her gaze. She figured she owed him at least that.

Arthur’s face was ashen, his hands were trembling, his hair was wild and unkempt, and his eyes were raw and red. But he met her gaze evenly, and he didn’t shift when she made a step towards him.

She stopped after the first step, though, too afraid and too alienated to move any closer, but Arthur gave her a small, half-smile, as if he understood.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” he whispered. And with that, he turned and made to leave the dungeons, but a small, timid voice stopped him.

“ _ My lord _ ,” 

Morgana saw Arthur’s steps falter, and she saw his chest rise and fall with another deep breath as he turned to Merlin’s cell to address the voice.

Merlin was holding  _ Excalibur _ out in front of him, offering it to Arthur.

Arthur moved closer to the cell wall with jerky, uncoordinated steps, as if his feet were carrying him there but his mind was trying to propel him away.

Merlin silently passed the sword through the bars without looking up at Arthur, keeping his eyes trained on the ground, instead.

Arthur, similarly avoiding looking at Merlin, grasped the sword by its hilt and silently took it from his servant.

He went to push it back into his scabbard, but he made an aborted movement with his arm when the smidge of blood on the sword came within his line of sight. He pushed the sword into its scabbard viciously, as if he wanted to forget its existence altogether.

Then, with one last shaky breath, the king turned on his heel and walked out of the dungeons without looking back, leaving behind him one broken, miserable soul and another tainted, repenting one.

Merlin had returned to his comatose state, leaning against the back wall and staring off blankly in front of him.

Morgana decided to leave him be; the memory of his hopeless, desperate face peering up at Arthur as if he had hung the moon still too fresh a memory.

And so they sat, silent and alone, for the remainder of the night, and for the next few days:

Morgana, against her wall, observing Merlin to ensure that he was still breathing, still alive; And Merlin against his wall, knees pulled up to his chest and arms resting limply at his sides, staring off into nothing as his mind fell apart with misery.

… 

They both knew the day was coming, so when four guards paraded into the dungeons and looked expectantly at the two of them, it was really no surprise. 

Merlin came out of his self-imposed punishment and shakily rose to his feet. Morgana watched him, then imitated the movement with a shaky breath, rising to her feet and hiding her trembling hands behind her back. 

The pyre visible from the barred window seemed to mock them from its place outside, and even though neither Merlin nor Morgana turned to look at it, its appearance was burned into their minds.

Morgana assumed she knew every detail of it, having been forced to witness the numerous burnings of alleged magic-wielders under Uther’s rule. Even when she closed her eyes against the horrid monstrosity of the image, the scene would still burn behind her eyelids, making it impossible for her to avoid the reality of the situation.

Merlin put his hands out when the guards came forward, but they shook their heads at him and instead moved past his cell and towards hers. The confusion on his face was apparent, and he questioned the guard.

“The king has ordered that you not be harmed. We are not here for you. The only person who will be punished today is Morgana,” the guard said to Merlin with a small, calming smile on his face. Morgana was suddenly reminded of the fact that Merlin had friends here, that he had people who loved him, who cared about him. It only made more glaringly obvious the differences between the two of them, Morgana mused as the guard turned back to her with a barely concealed look of hatred and pity on his face.

She supposed she had known it all along, how her story would end. She found, with surprise, that she didn’t feel any bitterness towards Merlin for managing to evade the death sentence, or towards Arthur for giving the order out in the first place, or even towards the guards that grabbed her by her cuffed arms and led her out of her cell.

She found that, as she looked at Merlin, who was pressed up against the locked door of his cell, reaching out to her, she didn’t feel any resentment at all. All she felt was a sense of peace. She supposed she was finally atoning for her sins.

“Merec, _Merec_ _please_ , just for a moment, I just want to talk to her,” she realized Merlin was saying, and the guard exchanged a glance with the other three before allowing Morgana to step closer to the servant.

Merlin grasped her cuffed hands through the bars and squeezed them gently, as if trying to reassure her. She took comfort in the contact and squeezed back.

“Don’t be afraid, Morgana…It will hurt, I won’t tell you that it won’t, but after… afterwards it’ll all be over. You won’t ever have to feel any pain ever again,” Merlin whispered, and she felt comforted by the fact that he realized that she wasn’t afraid of death itself, but rather of the flames that would melt her skin and drain her of life. She supposed he felt the same way.

“I--I’m sorry, Morgana… for everything,” the boy whispered, and she realized that there were tears in his eyes.  _ He was upset that she was to be killed.  _

Morgana wondered how she could have ever hated this boy in the first place. 

She smiled at him as well as she could given the circumstances and squeezed his hands once more.

“You need to be strong, Merlin. You heard the guard,  _ he doesn’t want you harmed.  _ He just needs time to think. You’ll be out of here in no time,” she assured him, pleasantly surprised when Merlin’s face twisted into a grateful smile, the first one she’d managed to pull out of him in nearly a fortnight.

“When-” her voice cracked, and she stopped to compose herself, “When… When  _ it  _ happens, don’t look. Please. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but I need to ask this.”

Merlin’s smile morphed into a sad one, and Morgana was relieved when he nodded slightly without saying anything. 

She felt the guard’s hand on her shoulder, applying pressure, and she closed her mouth and gave Merlin a small smile and squeezed his cold hands one last time, then stepped away.

Merlin reached out to her even after she’d let go, and his sad eyes remained in her mind even after she’d been escorted out of the dungeons. 

They led her through the large castle, along hallways that she run through as a child and past rooms that she had sat and played in. She thought she saw a glimpse of Guinevere around a corner, and she craned her neck to get a good look, suddenly desperate to have the chance to say something to her, but the guards moved her along, and the chance was lost.

They led her to the main entrance, and Morgana was surprised to see Arthur standing there waiting for her. She assumed that he would be up in the stands that were always erected for the public when a burning at the pyre was imminent. But a quick glance past him showed that the stands weren’t even in place. In fact, no one was even there, other than two or three knights. 

She turned back to Arthur, perplexed, and he gave her a tight smile, saying that he had blocked off the courtyard, saying that it wasn’t an event that should be showcased to the public. She was suddenly filled with an infinite sense of gratitude, and she voiced it to Arthur, who seemed surprised at the words.

Suddenly, his face took on a distraught look, and he looked away from her, took a deep breath and looked back with an empty face, making Morgana doubt if she’d really seen the look at all.

He shooed the guards away, and took her by the arm,  _ escorting her _ , she realized. 

“If you’re attempting to woo me, I’m going to have to remind you that I  _ am  _ your sister,” she mocked him without any real resentment.

Arthur snickered,

“ _ Half _ -sister,” he reminded her, with an exaggerated wink that made her gag playfully.

For a split second, as Arthur laughed at her antics, she felt like it was almost like old times again. But the moment passed, and they had approached the dreaded pyre at last.

Morgana looked up at it and sucked in a breath, fear suddenly overcoming her mind and body.

“ _ Don’t be afraid _ ,” Morgana turned to look at Arthur, who was still looking ahead, but was clearly speaking to her.

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” she responded quietly, and she almost chuckled when he turned to her almost immediately upon the words leaving her mouth.

“Is… Is he alright?” he asked her tentatively, chewing on his lower lip.

“He’s not eating. Not sleeping--nightmares-- and I suppose that’ll only get worse after this. He didn’t even move for almost a fortnight after that night you came in. Didn’t speak, either.”

Arthur’s face twisted more and more with concern with each word she uttered. 

Morgana was genuinely curious,

“Why do you have him in there, Arthur? You said he wasn’t to be hurt. Why is he there, then?”

Arthur avoided her eyes as he led her up the stairs to the stake, where two knights were waiting with rope. She stood against the stake with no argument and watched interestedly as the two knights began to tie her to it. Another knight stood at the base of the pyre with a torch. She felt strangely disconnected from all of it.

“I’m too afraid to let him out,” he suddenly said to her, and she drew her eyes form the torch to him, instead, and she realized that he had said it to her to distract her from her near future, or lack thereof.

“Why?” she took the bait.

He sighed then, and responded carefully.

“He lied to me, Morgana. I just… I can’t let that go. I’m not punishing him for his sorcery, and I’m not punishing you for that, either.” his eyes bored into hers and she nodded. She was being punished for her crimes against humanity and for the countless deaths she had caused. She knew that now. Arthur had no agenda against her magic. Not anymore, at least. And neither did he have anything against Merlin’s magic either.

“I… I’ve been thinking about magic for a while now actually, before all of this even happened,” he took a breath, eyeing the ropes that had come to circle Morgana from her ankles to her ribs.

“After it happened, I talked with everyone I knew. The knights, Gwen, Gaius, and… and  _ Merlin _ ,” he shrugged, “they opened my eyes to a lot, Gaius and Merlin especially. I had been considering it for some time now, it was never the magic that I imprisoned him for.”

“It was because he lied to you,” Morgana realized. 

Arthur nodded sadly. 

“I’ve… I’ve been lied to by a  _ lot  _ of people, Morgana,” he whispered. “And through it all, he was the one person that remained constant, that remained steady.”

“And then he lied to you, too.”

“He’d been lying the  _ entire time _ .”

Morgana wondered why Arthur was even telling her all of this. They weren’t close anymore. She had tried to kill him multiple times. He was killing her now--executing her. 

The knights had finished tying her to the stake, and, at a nod from Arthur, they retreated into the castle until only the knight with the torch remained. Arthur took the torch from him, and he too headed back towards the castle. The only people in the courtyard now were Arthur and Morgana herself, and for this she was grateful. She didn’t have to keep up pretenses around Arthur. She could show him her fear.

“Arthur… he loves you…  _ so much _ ,” Morgana told him, a small smile on her face. “A few days after we were first thrown into the dungeons, he realized that I was hungry and he gave me his bowl of food. I tried to tell him to keep it, that he needed it more than I did, but he wouldn’t listen. He said he didn’t want it. That he  _ couldn’t _ . Everytime I did manage to get some food down his throat, he would just throw it back up a few hours later. It’s tearing him apart, Arthur, knowing how much he hurt you. He’s sorry,  _ you know he is _ . Why is he still there?”

Arthur remained stony for a moment, thinking over all that Morgana had told him, and she could read the worry on his face easily. She smiled a small smile of victory.  _ She had paid Merlin back. She had repented in some small way. She had helped Merlin. _

“He’ll be out tomorrow,” he said, almost to himself. 

“Keep an eye on him tonight,  _ please _ , he’ll have terrible nightmares tonight,” Morgana pleaded with him, suddenly desperate for Merlin to have someone to look after him in that lonely, dark cell. 

She wouldn’t be there anymore, after all.

And finally, the harsh reality dawned on her. 

_ She was going to die _

_ She was being executed _

Tears began slipping, unbidden, down her face, and she dropped her head slightly, watching as her hands trembled.

_ She was afraid. _

_ Gods, she was so afraid. _

But then a warm hand gently turned her head up and she was faced with Arthur, who was smiling sadly at her.

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” she whispered to him, meaning every syllable of the words, and hoping desperately that he would understand.

“ _ I am, too _ ,” he whispered right back to her, tears in his own eyes. 

_ How had Morgana ever hated these people? Why did she try to hurt them so badly? Why did she kill so many people? Why had she been so angry? _

“All is forgiven,  _ brother _ ,” she whispered back to him, her voice breaking on the word that was being used as an endearance rather than a curse.

He smiled at her, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, forcing a single tear down his tanned face.

She followed it with her eyes, longing to wipe it away. She had caused him enough pain. She didn’t want to cause him any more.

Arthur sniffled and wiped it away with the hand not holding the torch.

Morgana took a deep, shuddering breath, and then she met Arthur’s eyes and nodded at him, not saying anything else, wanting the last word spoken between them to be one of family.

And then she closed her eyes. And she didn’t open them even as heat rose around her. She didn’t open them even as pain, steadily rising, engulfed her first her feet and then her legs. She didn’t open them even as she heard sniffling from in front of her, where she knew Arthur had been standing. She didn’t open them even as her whole body became consumed by the flames.

She didn’t open them ever again.

… 

That night found Merlin sat with his back to the wall with the barred window, as he had been sitting all day. His eyes were red, puffy, and there were heavy, purple bags underneath them. His face was pale, and though he had seen nothing, heard nothing, he had known when it had finally ended.

He closed his eyes and gently lowered himself down onto his side on the cobblestone floor, seeing as there was no cot to lie on in his cell. He finally turned his head to look at the pyre, seeing nothing but blackened wood and ashes scattering in the wind. He turned away and lay facing away from the pyre once more. He didn’t look into the now empty cell beside his either, knowing that there would be no one there to meet his gaze.

He closed his eyes and curled tightly into himself, trying to ignore the way his body shook and his heart hurt. He slipped into a fitful sleep, at last.

And when he woke up, shaking, screaming, and crying, from a nightmare that involved flames and a girl with pale skin and pale eyes that glowed gold, there were arms around him, holding him. There were warm hands wrapping around his own when he attempted to dig his nails into his own skin in his sleep. There were whispered words of comfort in his ears when he could only hear screams. 

Merlin knew he was still dreaming, and so he didn’t open his eyes, but rather just wrapped his arms around the neck of the person comforting him and fell back into another fitful sleep, only to wake up within a few hours to repeat the vicious cycle again, and again, and again.

Arthur, drained and tired, looked down at Merlin, who was sleeping in his arms. The boy was so  _ skinny _ . The arms that had gone around his neck had felt like twigs, and the body that he clutched tightly to himself was light as a feather. The bright red scratches along Merlin’s arms had come as a surprise, and Arthur had only found out where the boy had gotten them when Merlin had begun to toss and turn in his sleep, scratching at himself as nightmares made him shake and clutch at himself tighter.

It had been a relief when the boy’s arms went around his neck, even though Arthur knew that the boy wasn’t even aware that Arthur was there in person. Merlin’s hands left painful scratches on Arthur’s shoulders when in the throes of his nightmares now, but Arthur found that he much preferred that instead of Merlin harming himself.

He had glanced at the small cut on Merlin’s neck that he himself had put there for a few silent seconds before looking away, unable to bear the sight any longer.

He instead looked around the cell that Merlin had been thrown into, and he cringed at the realization that it was the same cell that Agravaine had thrown Merlin into all that time ago. His eyes lingered on the dark spot on the floor, and he sucked in a breath and allowed his arms to tighten fractionally around Merlin, too scared to squeeze tighter out of fear that his servant would break in his arms.

He had forbidden Merlin from having any visitors, not knowing what else to do, but now, as he looked at where dozens of bowls filled with food sat, untouched, across from him, he wished that he had allowed someone to come and care for the boy in his arms, for he clearly hadn’t been caring for himself. 

And so they sat, Merlin trapped in the nightmares of his mind while Arthur thought over the past and the future.

And the ashes outside scattered in the wind, drifting into the sky and into the earth, free to roam wherever they wished.

… 

The next morning, Merlin woke alone, the phantom sensation of arms clutching at him all but forgotten. He rose gracelessly, his tired and weak limbs stiff with sleep. He forced himself to his feet, staggering when he got to them as his legs protested the sudden movement. 

He looked out the barred window and felt his throat tighten when he realized that the pyre had been disassembled and that any evidence of what had occurred was gone.

_ He hoped she was happier now. He hoped she was free _ .

The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him turn, grabbing onto the nearest wall when his head spun dangerously. When his vision cleared, he found Arthur standing in the doorway of his cell. He was holding the open cell door and was reaching out a hand to Merlin.

Merlin eyed it quietly for a moment before slowly crossing the room and laying his cold hand in Arthur’s warm one. Arthur led him out of the cell then stopped him. He gently grasped the hand that he was holding and lifted it up slightly, then he gently twisted the arm until the keyhole to the cuff was visible to him, and he unlocked it and let it clang to the floor. He did the same with the cuff on the other hand, allowing that one to clang to the floor, too.

Merlin looked at the fallen cuffs, not comprehending what Arthur had done. A hand on his chin forced him to look up at Arthur again. Worried eyes met his gaze. Merlin was confused.  _ Why was Arthur worried? _

“Dine with me,” Arthur commanded his servant gently. 

“It’s not my place,” Merlin said quietly back, dropping his head slightly again to avoid Arthur’s eyes, but Arthur gently tipped up his head again.

“I want you there,” Arthur told him, beyond worried at the way his servant’s eyes wouldn’t focus properly on anything and at the way that his skin pulled tightly against his cheekbones, making his cheeks appear hollow. He was even more worried at the fact that Merlin hadn’t responded to the cuffs finally coming off.  _ Wasn’t he happy? _

Merlin stared unseeingly at him as if he didn’t understand, but after a moment responded with a dip of his head and a, “yes, my lord.”

Arthur gritted his teeth at the title, but said nothing about it, knowing that now wasn’t the time. 

And so, Arthur led his unresponsive servant out of the dungeons with a hand on the small of his back, leaving behind them two recently emptied cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my Thanksgiving break now, so I hope to finish this story within this week, but you all know how reliable my promises are. I hope you enjoyed! And please let me know your feedback, I really do love reading your comments and responding to them! Look forward to the next chapter, which will finally finish this piece!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Ideally, this will be updated soon, but knowing me and my late self, it may take a few days or weeks, even. I will finish this, though -- I'm not one to leave things half-done. Until then, hope you enjoyed! Comments are welcome, hate is not.


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